


Ripples in the Water

by OneWhoSitsWithTurtles



Category: Inception (2010), Mysterious Skin (2005)
Genre: Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Rape, Romance, Sexual Abuse
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2010-08-22
Updated: 2010-08-22
Packaged: 2017-10-11 05:10:07
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Rape/Non-Con, Underage
Chapters: 1
Words: 24,497
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/108769
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/OneWhoSitsWithTurtles/pseuds/OneWhoSitsWithTurtles
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The ripples fan out, distorting the once-still water from that initial disturbance. It's amazing what one simple act can do to a person, how it can influence the rest of their life. Arthur (Neil)/Eames</p><p>(An Inception/Mysterious Skin crossover)</p>
            </blockquote>





	Ripples in the Water

**Author's Note:**

> **You can check out [here](http://onewhositswiththeturtles.tumblr.com/) to follow my Tumblr for info about me and story updates.**
> 
> I hope I do not offend anyone with this story and even though I doubt you will, I feel required to say: please do not take this as a how-to guide. There are some serious and sensitive topics addressed and I'd just like to say that I'm one writer writing her perspective and story. Thank you.
> 
> Warning: Spoilers, M/M pairing, language, [abuse, child molestation, rape] (non-graphic).
> 
> You will be able to read this story and understand it if you are only familiar with the Inception fandom, but you will get more out of it if you have seen Mysterious Skin as well. I suggest you also watch Mysterious Skin anyway because it's fantastic. But please use your own discretion because it does deal with some serious adult themes, and I'm not just talking sex.
> 
> Rating: M
> 
> Pairing: Arthur (Neil McCormick)/Eames
> 
> Creative Liberties: Okay, I'm taking some serious creative liberties here. First off I'm making Arthur and Neil the same person. I'm going to use the name Arthur just because of where the story will head, but I'm basically giving Arthur Neil's childhood. Does that make sense? Hopefully so. And for this reason, Arthur will most likely be OOC – just a warning.
> 
> Secondly I'm going to alter the dates of the Neil/Arthur character to make it suit the Inception universe and go more with the actor's ages. So "Arthur" is being born 1981 and Eames 1977

**December 2000**

 

Eames was sprawled out across the hard bench of seats, feeling the train sway below him. The car was completely silent, except for the squealing of metal wheels clutching metal tracks. He was entirely alone, which made sense based on how late it was. He watched train stops and neighbourhoods flash by his eyes while he waited for his station to arrive.

 

The train jolted to a stop as they reached another station and Eames vaguely noticed the doors swing open and someone else stumble onto the train. Eames did not look up right away, not wanting to draw unwanted attention to himself when he was alone at night. But he saw a flash of red out of the corner of his eyes and looked up sharply.

 

The guy must have been only a few years younger than him, gorgeous as he left adolescence. Or at least he would be if he were in better shape. The other boy had sat further down the car from him, sitting with his head bowed. He was thin and wiry but his limbs trembled noticeably, arms clutched around his chest. His pale skin that probably looked wonderful in sunlight instead looked sickly in the florescent lighting of the train. That face, bowed defensively, looked soft to the touch but hardened by things no child should know. And that ebony hair, flung wild in disarray, was plastered to the boy’s face with blood.

 

Eames bit his lip for just a moment before he pushed himself off the uncomfortable plastic seats, using the handrails to keep his balance as he stumbled down the length of the car to sit across from the boy. He could see more blood drying on his shirt from this angle and a few large, rather worrisome gashes on his head. The other boy did not even look up at him, his chin tucked against his chest, so Eames cleared his throat, “You know the hospital is the other direction.”

 

He noticed the boy flinch at the sudden words before looking up at Eames slowly. Those dark eyes, probably once filled with excitement and warmth, looked hollow and scared. “Fuck off.”

 

Eames bristled a bit at the reaction, only trying to help. But it was obvious that the other guy had been through something traumatic so he wrestled up his patience. “I’m serious. I’ve seen enough injuries in my time to know that those gashes need more than a Band-Aid. There’s a good chance you have a concussion as well,” Eames watched the other boy as he dropped his head in his hands, smearing blood on his palms. “Do you have a headache?”

 

“What?”

 

“Do you have a headache?” Eames asked again.

 

“Yes,” the other boy groaned, seemingly too exhausted or unmotivated enough to shoo Eames away.

 

“Feel like you’re going to throw up?”

 

He swore the other youth grew even paler as he answered in a whisper, “Yes.”

 

“Dizzy? Kind of blurred vision?”

 

“Yes! But I’m _not_ going to a fucking hospital so fuck off!” the other boy shot a desperate glare at him, looking cornered.

 

Eames could not quite place his reasoning for wanting to help this other boy so much. Maybe it was because at one point in his life Eames had looked exactly the same…bloodied and alone…but no one had been there to help him through it. He let out a sigh, “Alright, well if you’re not going to a hospital are you going home? Somewhere that someone can take care of you?”

 

He saw the other individual open his mouth before closing it again, looking away nervously. There was a sudden look of fear and nausea that overtook his face. Finally he shook his head frantically, wincing as he probably jolted his headache alive again. “It doesn’t matter though,” he looked back at Eames tiredly, “I can take care of myself.”

 

“Not right now you can’t,” Eames stood, holding onto the handrail as the train took a sharp turn. He saw the anger pass through those dark brown eyes, glad to see they were still alight with something – that this boy hadn’t completely given up yet. “I’m speaking from experience here; no insult meant. Trust me when I say you’ll want someone else around right now, even if you don’t think you do this very second.”

 

Eames stood there, trying not to appear imposing as he let the teenager think about his words. Suddenly the train screeched to a stop at the next station and he toppled forward, only grasping another handrail the last moment before he fell on the other boy. He winced as the other screamed and curled in on himself protectively and Eames wondered morbidly what had happened to him. “Stay away from me!” he heard the boy sob into his knees.

 

“Look, I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to scare you; the train just caught me off guard,” he tried to reason with him but realized quite quickly that this boy was far beyond the sense of reason. He dropped his voice, making it softer the next time he spoke to the shivering adolescent. “Listen, if you refuse to go to a hospital then come to my place. I’ll get you fixed up and taken care of and then you can leave as soon as you want.”

 

The other individual shook his head anxiously, immediately refusing Eames’s offer; which made sense, obviously. He had clearly been through something terrible and now some random stranger was inviting him over to his house. Eames felt the train begin to slow as his stop approached, “Okay this is my stop. I will either drag you to the hospital or you can come with me to get patched up as best I can and then leave.”

 

The train grinded to a halt and the doors swung open. The boy looked up to meet Eames’s eyes, clearly frightened and conflicted before he stiffly pushed himself off the train’s seat and stumbled out onto the platform. Eames followed, barely dodging the closing doors before he came to stand beside the other boy. He began walking in the direction of his tiny apartment but when he looked back he noticed the other male struggling to keep up.

 

Eames doubled back to return to his side, the teen panting in obvious pain. Eames had to swallow down a wave of nausea, suddenly having a horrifyingly clear idea of what had happened to this individual. Curled in on himself protectively, limbs stiff, legs spread uncomfortably as he staggered slowly forward down the pavement, it seemed quite clear that this boy had been raped.

 

Eames let out a steadying breath, realizing that this was so much worse than bullies or an abusive family member he had suspected. He matched the other’s slow pace, showing he was in no rush. Quietly, so as not to startle him, Eames asked, “Can I touch you? I can help you walk if you put your arm around me.”

 

He didn’t make any move himself, instead letting the other boy pause, weather his lip cautiously, and slowly reach one arm up. Eames helped him slip it around his shoulders, hearing the other boy grunt in pain for a moment before beginning their slow steps together. As Eames led him slowly through his quiet neighbourhood he gave the other boy small words of encouragement until he suddenly received a vicious glare, “I’m not an injured puppy. I don’t need to be coddled.”

 

Eames snorted lightly, pleased to hear some semblance of determination and independence in that otherwise soft voice. “Of course,” his expression sobered when he saw how embarrassed the other looked, “Whatever you say.”

 

They were silent for a while until the teen spoke again, suddenly sounding exhausted, “Distract me with something. Why are you here with an English accent?”

 

“Well, hard as it may be to believe, some people indulge in this thing called _traveling_,” he waved his free hand in the air with a flourish, pleased when the tiniest of smiles curled those bloodied lips for a second.

 

“But why did you come here to New York?” he asked again, clearly desperate for any kind of distraction as walking probably made his situation that much more painful.

 

Eames paused for just a moment before deciding that it would not hurt to let this stranger see a bit of his vulnerable side. It was only fair with Eames seeing him so vulnerable in return. “My father abused me so I left. That’s how I know from experience about gashes like that.”

 

He regretted his choice of words immediately as the other boy yanked himself away, nearly tripping as his body suddenly had to hold its full weight again. He gave a dry sob once as the pain overtook him before he steadied himself, panting slightly, “What are you implying?” he hissed.

 

“Nothing, darling, really!” Eames held up his hands as a sign of surrender, trying to calm the other youth down before he hurt himself. “It’s all your secret to tell, I promise.”

 

The other boy glared at him for a long minute, clearly trying to fight down his defensive embarrassment. Finally his eyes dropped, no longer able to meet Eames’s gaze, but managed to speak. “How much farther?”

 

Eames relaxed and dropped his hands, “It’s just at the end of this block. Come on,” he dipped his shoulder slightly to let the other wrap his arm around him for support as he chose. Slowly they crossed the last block and entered the rundown apartment building’s lobby. “Um, listen, this apartment building doesn’t have an elevator and I’m on the seventh floor. I suppose you’d be opposed to me carrying you up…?” he asked even though he knew it was pointless.

 

“Yes, I would be _very much_ opposed,” he was glared at through that bloodied black hair. Eames offered a hand as they stood at the base of the staircase but dropped it again with a sigh as the other boy took a firm hold of the handrail and slowly headed up the stairs. “I can do this on my own.”

 

Eames watched in frustration as the teen covered the first flight, stopping on the first landing to catch his breath. He knew that he could not argue and that the boy needed some show to himself that he was still capable of taking care of himself. But Eames still worried that he would cause unnecessary damage to his already battered body. He told the struggling teen not to rush but otherwise left him alone to make the journey himself, finally sighing in relief when they made it to the seventh floor landing.

 

The other adolescent was sweaty now as blood continued to slowly trickle down his face, gashes not clotting nearly fast enough for Eames’s liking. He sent Eames a sharp glare, a silent ‘I told you so’ before he swallowed his pride and allowed Eames to help him down the hall until they reached his apartment. He shouldered the door open and allowed the other boy to close it behind them, leaving him in charge.

 

Once they were both in the tiny apartment Eames began pulling off his warm jacket and scarf, throwing them haphazardly to the ground. When he turned to look at the other boy he saw that he had not removed any clothing even though he was probably dying of the heat, hunched over slightly. “So what should I call you?” he asked offhandedly as he began rummaging through his dresser for a new set of clothes. He wasn’t surprised when the teen didn’t respond, continuing on confidently, “That’s fine; you don’t need to tell me your name. But you can call me Eames...if you want.”

 

He saw the other boy tilt his head slightly, listening but otherwise not reacting. He still had his arms wrapped around himself protectively. Undeterred, Eames approached slowly and handed his clothes over. “Before anything else we need to get you cleaned up. Luckily most of the blood got on your clothes but you’ll need to wash your face and hair and...um...” he waved uselessly at the crotch of the other’s jeans.

 

He saw the boy’s eyes flash angrily as he glared up at Eames, “What are you saying?”

 

Eames sighed, “Look, I’m not trying to pry. But the back of your pants are...bleeding,” he weathered his lip, knowing that dragging information out of him would probably not do much good. He saw those eyes quickly look down and tears begin to stream down his face, washing away a bit of smeared blood. “You can talk if you want but you don’t have to,” he spoke quietly and constantly as he took slow steps forward to make sure the other youth knew where he was at all times. “The only reason I pointed that out is because I’m here to try and help you however I can.”

 

He stopped moving a short distance away until the boy slowly lifted his head, tears still falling quickly down his face. He opened his mouth but seemed unable to speak so he nodded his head instead. “Alright, let’s get you cleaned up.” Eames led the way to his small bathroom, pushing the door open and turning on the light before stepping back, allowing the teenager to step in first.

 

Eames followed behind him but suddenly the body in front of him froze, staring at his bath tub and shower mix before quickly backing up, tripping into him. Eames caught him by the shoulders to keep him from falling but the boy wrenched away from his grasp, screaming. “Please, oh god, don’t—please no—don’t...”

 

Eames let him go sharply, allowing the teen to stumble out of the bathroom and fall to his knees. That jolt caused a pained gasp before the boy whimpered and slid down to lie completely on the floor. Eames looked back at his innocent shower briefly, eyes narrowing in anger at what this person had done, before he forced it away. He had to remain calm as he slowly came to sit next to the shivering mass on his disgustingly old rug.

 

“It’s just me, Eames,” he whispered repeatedly as he sat cross legged on the carpet, wishing he knew what to do to help. He desperately wanted to call the hospital and the police, fuck, even Satan to rain hell down on this bastard. He was completely unqualified to deal with this and this boy needed real help. But he had to listen to the youth’s wishes for now since he was not in immediate danger and he was a legal adult.

 

Cautiously he touched that soft ebony hair, some of it hardened with dried blood. When the boy did not immediately pull away he began carding his fingers through the strands slowly, remembering the times his mother would do this after his father had hit him. He heard a grunt as the figure below him shifted and moved closer to Eames, resting his head on one of his crossed knees. Probably not the most comfortable position, Eames reckoned, but if that’s what the teen wanted then he wasn’t going to argue.

 

Eventually he decided that they needed to get him cleaned up before he went to sleep. Eames was terrified that there would be lasting damage or an infection. “Here’s the deal. You need to get cleaned up to avoid infection, and since you refuse to go to a hospital you’re leaving me to be the hard-ass here. If you don’t want to go in the shower I can wash your hair and head in the sink if you actually want me to do that, but I doubt you want me to clean the rest of you.”

 

He heard a long drawn out sigh come from the body resting on him, “This is going to sound like a very bizarre request...”

 

“Don’t worry about it. I’m here to help you, not to judge. Whatever you need,” Eames stated calmly.

 

“Could you...stay in the bathroom against the door? To make sure he--” the teen cut himself off harshly, taking a deep breath.

 

Eames continued slipping his fingers through that soft hair carefully, “Sure, of course.”

 

He felt the body shift against him before he heard the groan of pain. He slowly helped the boy into a standing position and back into the bathroom slowly. He left the teen by the door, frozen stiff in fear, while he went about setting some towels and the spare clothes he had pulled out on the counter. He turned the water on to a comfortable temperature, glad that good water pressure was one of the few perks of this area. “Alright, use whatever you need and take your time.”

 

“It’ll be quick...right?” the boy was clearly swallowing a lump in his throat, fighting back tears.

 

“Yup, all you have to do is get your body clean if you want me to do your hair after. Two minutes tops,” Eames stayed in the sight of the other youth until the other male was standing beside the shower.

 

“Stay against the door,” the boy sent him a pleading look, waiting for him to close the door and press his back against it sturdily before he turned back to the shower. Eames watched him pull his shirt delicately over his head, taking note of the small cuts and hand-shaped bruises littering that pale form. As the other youth reached slowly for the button of his jeans Eames closed his eyes, giving him some privacy.

 

He heard the sound of fabric falling softly to the tile below, the curtain being pulled aside, and small whimpers as the boy pulled himself under the hot spray. There were small hisses of pain he could barely hear over the spray, along with a few dry sobs as the stranger cleaned himself in Eames’s shower. He was again surprised by the teen’s trust in him, especially after recent events, but assumed that he probably had nowhere else to go. Well that probably wasn’t true – he probably didn’t want to go home and admit to his friends or family what had happened. Rather a stranger judge you than your loved ones.

 

Barely a minute later he heard the taps turn off, creaking with rust as the curtain was drawn aside once again. He kept his eyes shut, hearing the soft fabric of his towel shift lightly. There was a pause, the sound of quick breathing, another pause, and then “...Help.”

 

Eames blinked his eyes open immediately, pushing himself away from the door slowly. He took in the situation quickly, seeing that a pair of his boxers was in place on dangerously narrow hips but the rest of that thin frame was being half-covered by a blood-streaked towel. “Need help getting those pants up?” he asked as he slowly approached.

 

The other boy nodded and looked away, a mix of anger and embarrassment on his face. Eames paid this no mind as he picked his track pants off the counter and knelt down, helping the other man step into them. He pulled them up as the youth met his eyes and glanced away again just as quickly. “I’ve ruined your towels and clothes.”

 

“Don’t worry about it, they’re just fabric. Easily replaced,” he gave the boy a reassuring smile, showing that he was not angry at all. “Now let’s get that head of yours clean, shall we?”

 

“Do we have to do it in here?” he heard the hesitant question, noticing the sharp glance between the shower and the bathroom door.

 

“Not as long as you don’t mind getting your hair washed in my kitchen sink,” Eames chuckled lightly. “Come on,” he nodded towards the door. “As long as you’re comfortable you might as well leave the shirt off until we’re done; otherwise it will get wet,” he added when he saw the teen pick up his lent t-shirt.

 

“But what about...?” trembling arms tried unsuccessfully to cover up the dark blotches of cuts and bruises.

 

“It’s nothing new to my eyes, if that’s what you’re worried about,” Eames shrugged, trying to not make a big deal out of those bruises. About how angry they made him. He reached for his bottle of shampoo but heard a tiny whimper behind him. When he turned he saw those brown eyes focused on the bottle in his hand, he swallowed, “How about you carry this if it will make you more comfortable?” he suggested, holding the coloured bottle out for the youth to grab away.

 

He silently made his way out of the bathroom and into his tiny kitchenette, turning the stream of water on to adjust it to a warmer temperature. He was lucky that he had an elevated tap so that the other male would not need to lean over too far to be covered by the stream. The boy seemed a little less fearful now that they were in neutral-kitchen area as he stood beside him, supporting the majority of his weight on the counter. “Are you sure you want this done here? You already managed the shower once and you won’t have to hurt yourself leaning over there.”

 

Eames watched the shampoo bottle get set on the counter as the boy stepped closer. “I’d rather it be here.” Eames shrugged and nodded, disposing of his sweater so he was just in a t-shirt while the boy gripped onto the edge of the sink, leaning forward to put his hair under the spray.

 

“This is going to sting a bit when the shampoo touches your cuts,” Eames warned, threading his fingers through that hair to get it completely wet before he flipped the shampoo bottle open. He worked the shampoo into the dripping black hair, working out sweat and blood carefully. He heard a quick hiss of surprised pain when some shampoo touched a gash which Eames quickly rinsed away before he continued. He was surprised but pleased when a content sigh fell from the boy’s lips as he worked his fingers, and then he heard him mutter something indistinguishable under the water. “What was that?”

 

“Arthur.”

 

Eames blinked, astonished. “Is that your name?” He felt the teen nod carefully against his fingers. “Well it’s good to meet you Arthur. I just wish it was under better circumstances.”

 

“Me too...” he heard Arthur whisper sadly before they both fell silent. Eames eventually rinsed the shampoo out and helped Arthur out of his leaning position.

 

“You work on towelling that hair dry and I’ll go get some disinfectant and bandages. If you manage to find a place more comfortable for you than standing you’re welcome to it,” Eames gave him a small smile before disappearing to his bathroom cabinet. When he returned he found Arthur sitting on the rug, legs held against his chest and back resting against the frame of his bed.

 

Eames sat down beside him, facing the other boy as he showed him everything he had brought out. “Alright so first we’re going to put some hydrogen peroxide on those cuts to disinfect them. I can promise you that this will not be pleasant, but it’s a must. After that all I can really do is put some sterilized tape on those gashes to hold the skin together and put some bandage of them to keep infection out. You should still go to the hospital to get stitches tomorrow.”

 

He saw Arthur give him a glare at the mention of a hospital and decided to leave that argument alone until he had done everything he could to patch the other man up. He returned with a cloth soaked in warm water and carefully wiped away the stray streaks of blood he had missed when washing Arthur’s hair. Once he was done that he poured some hydrogen peroxide onto some gauze and held it up, “You ready?”

 

Arthur nodded, biting his lip nervously. Eames brushed the damp hair aside, locating the gash on Arthur’s left temple. He made sure the gauze was soaked fully before he brushed it against the angry looking gash, wondering what had caused it. He felt Arthur’s hand grip his arm tightly as he moaned in pain, clutching so fiercely that Eames had to force himself not to pull away. “I know, darling. I know it hurts, but we’re almost there.”

 

He pulled his hand away and dropped the bloody piece of gauze in the trashcan, cleaning his hands before he peeled off two strips of sterilized tape to hold the skin together before he covered it with a bandage. He whispered for Arthur to let go of him for just a moment as he switched sides, allowing the other man to twine his fingers nervously around his arm again as he soaked more gauze. He slipped his fingers carefully through that hair, searching for the second gash. Eventually he found it, hidden underneath that mess of ebony locks, and what he saw made him swallow hard. He held in his curse, not wanting to cause Arthur to panic, “How are you doing? Still have a headache, nausea, dizziness?”

 

“A little bit of all three,” Arthur muttered quietly, sounding drowsy even after the adrenaline rush of pain with the disinfectant. “But not as bad as before.”

 

“Alright, well then your concussion probably isn’t too serious. Here we go,” he warned, feeling those fingers clamp around him painfully as he swiped the soaked gauze over the open wound. It looked like Arthur had been hit with something metal and hard. He continued to praise the other man as he cleaned the wound and barely managed to get some tape in place, hair blocking his attempts mostly. Once he was satisfied that he had done the best he could do he sat back on his knees, “Do you mind if I check the rest of the cuts?”

 

Arthur glanced down at his own bruised chest before sadly shaking his head. He gave every cut he found a good soaking of disinfectant but none of them were deep enough to worry about tape or stitches. Eames got Arthur to take a few deep breaths, making sure none of his ribs were damaged, before he helped him slip the borrowed t-shirt on and finally sat cross legged beside the other man. “I think I’ve done everything I can.”

 

His back was leaned against the bed frame beside Arthur so he was a little surprised at the shuddering breath beside him. “I guess you’ll want to be repaid now...” he heard the other youth whisper before he felt a warm hand brush against his covered cock, fingers trembling.

 

“Whoa, whoa, _stop_!” he gripped Arthur’s wrists and pulled them away from himself, holding his hands between their bodies. “What are you doing?”

 

He saw Arthur blink at him, suddenly looking unsure and tired, “Didn’t you fix me up so that you could fuck me?”

 

“_What_?” Eames dropped Arthur’s wrists before he gripped them too tightly, “Of course not!”

 

“Then why _did_ you?” Arthur looked frightened and close to tears.

 

“Because I could, Arthur. Why wouldn’t I help if I knew I could?” Eames made sure that he had Arthur’s attention, even if the other youth would not meet his gaze. “If you had stayed on that train and not taken care of yourself there was a really good chance you would get an infection and get sick...or die.”

 

“But what do you care? I’m just some stranger...” Eames noticed a few stray tears escaping those dark eyes slowly, catching in his eyelashes until gravity took hold of them.

 

“My father abused me for most of my life, and once my mom was gone I had to take care of myself whenever he hit me. I would have to disinfect my own cuts, bandage them up, and occasionally even call my own taxi to go to the hospital.” Eames took a shaky breath, spilling his soul to this battered stranger. “Every time it happened and I was left alone to take care of myself I wished someone was there to help me through. There wasn’t for me, but that doesn’t mean you had to deal with this alone as well.”

 

Silence rang throughout the tiny apartment filled with haphazard decorations and second-hand furniture. Then he heard Arthur gasp for air, no longer able to hold in his breath or the sobs clawing up his throat. They were desperate, tired sobs that wracked the boy’s thin frame fully. As he ran out of breath Arthur’s sobs grew silent so that he was gasping for air between them. Eames felt the shaking body fall against his shoulder and then half-crawl into his lap, fingers clutching at him desperately.

 

He didn’t know what exactly had triggered this but he remained calm, threading his fingers calmingly through damp hair and wrapping one arm carefully around trembling shoulders. He whispered assurances occasionally but he mainly stayed silent and allowed the teen to cry himself to exhaustion. It took a long time but finally the youth quieted in his arms, only shivering and breathing a little fast. “Is it alright if I pick you up?”

 

He saw Arthur struggle to look up at him but give up and allow his eyes to drift shut again. Taking this as a reluctant yes, Eames carefully cradled the smaller form in his arms and lifted him against his chest, swallowing at feeling Arthur’s head loll against his arm. Luckily they were already at the foot of the bed so it was a short distance to travel as he set Arthur down on the bed softly.

 

Arthur’s eyes flashed open, looking around the bed sharply, and Eames took a step back to give him some space. Once Arthur calmed down Eames tugged the sheets up and around thin shoulders. He disappeared briefly before returning with a glass of water and a bottle of pain killers, “This should help.”

 

He watched Arthur struggle to open his eyes, eyelids remaining half closed even when he managed to look over and see what Eames was holding. He took the water, gulping it down quickly, but then shook his head at the pills. “I can’t take those right now. He—he made me take cocaine.”

 

The younger man looked away as Eames sat down on the edge of the bed, jaw clenched. When Eames finally had his temper under control he allowed himself to speak again, “Do you want to talk about it?”

 

Silence reigned for a long time before Arthur finally sighed, biting his lip, “No.”

 

“Alright,” Eames relented, knowing that he could not be selfish here.

 

“Could you...do that hair thing again?” Arthur asked hesitantly, peeking up at Eames from underneath the plain sheets and itchy blanket Eames’s mother had made for him the Christmas before she died. With a small smile Eames began carding his fingers through that soft hair, now nearly dry. “I don’t know how to repay you for this...” he heard Arthur mutter tiredly some undistinguished time later.

 

“Do you really want to know what would make me happy?” Eames looked down at Arthur seriously, seeing him nod. “I want you to go to the hospital and get yourself taken care of properly. And I’m not just talking stitches either; I want you to get examined and tested to make sure you’re alright. And then, I want you to go to the police station and press charges.”

 

He saw Arthur yawn as Eames continued petting his hair, staring up at Eames sadly. Eames sighed, “Okay, pressing charges is your choice in the end,” he remembered reading once that you had to support their decision in this matter, whether you agreed with it or not. “But _please_ go to the hospital and get yourself taken care of.” Arthur caught his free hand in his own, nuzzling against it quietly. Despite the fact that this youth had clearly been through a lot, Eames could not understand why he felt such an intense wave of protectiveness and warmth wash through him as Arthur nestled his cheek against Eames’s free hand. He could tell that Arthur was close to falling asleep so he spoke quietly, “Sleep for as long as you want. You’re welcome to stay or leave whenever you choose.”

 

“Thank you,” he heard the soft reply before Arthur’s breath began to even out. Eames pet his hair for a while longer until he was sure the teen was deep in sleep and as relaxed as he could get right now. He wandered away to turn off lights in the apartment before collapsing into a ratty old sofa he had sitting beside an equally ratty television set. He wondered if Arthur would have to deal with any nightmares and whether or not the other male would actually go to the hospital like he had asked.

 

Eames felt his whole body scream in protest as he tried to find a comfortable position on the sofa, tense, stressed and exhausted. When he checked his watch he saw that it was now only a few hours until dawn. But as soon as he found a position between cushion springs he felt his eyes drift close almost immediately, slipping away into a dreamless sleep. When his eyes blinked open sometime in the afternoon of the next day, sunlight fanning across him, he noticed that the bed was empty and the apartment was silent.

 

Arthur had fled.

 

**April 2006**

 

The difference was so startling that he thought he was mistaken. “Eames,” he heard Cobb begin, “this is my Point Man, Arthur.” He glanced at the Extractor quickly before frantically returning his gaze to the other man. “Arthur, this is Eames – the Forger I was telling you about. Why don’t you get acquainted while I go find out what Nash is working on.”

 

Cobb disappeared, leaving Eames to stand across from the other man, both of them stiff with recognition. When Cobb had first tracked him down and asked him to join his team for this job Eames had been reluctant. He wasn’t a huge fan of sharing his subconscious with new people, especially with all of the secrets he had buried down there. He had not been convinced until Cobb had gone on to tell him a little bit about the rest of the team. When he heard that name…_Arthur_…he couldn’t help but agree. He knew it was almost impossible for this random Arthur to be the same one from his past, but he had to try anyway. Ever since he had woken up in his apartment that chilly afternoon he had wondered how that boy was.

 

And now…here he was. No longer a boy but a few years into adulthood now, and so different from that battered boy who let him wash his hair and cried on his shoulder. He wasn’t much taller and he was still relatively thin, but it was obvious that it was a healthy thin now, muscles tense under smooth skin. He realized that he had been right, all those years ago, when he saw that pale skin catch the sunlight from the hotel room window – it caught the light with a healthy warmth.

 

The blood soaked teenager clothes were gone, no longer any jeans hanging low on his hips or loose t-shirt trailing out of his waistband. No, the man standing in front of him was dressed in a three piece suit, the only thing missing being the jacket that was resting carefully on the back of a chair. Crisp white shirt covered in a smooth pinstripe vest, tie tied neatly and tucked under precisely, pants fitting in a way that screamed custom work.

 

He saw that Arthur was clean shaven, and even though his face had clearly hardened with his past Eames could not help but think that that face still looked wonderfully soft to the touch. The ebony hair was now cut short and slicked back, no longer long and dishevelled. That made him a little sad, remembering six years ago when he had combed his fingers through that long hair and pulled a content sigh from the suffering boy.

 

The eyes were what he noticed first but avoided again until the end. They had caught the sunlight streaming in and Eames could see mixes of darker and lighter brown coming together beautifully. But those eyes were staring at him with such hatred that he found it hard to swallow. “Arthur…?”

 

“Just don’t,” he heard the point man hiss before he stalked away across the large suite to a desk pressed up against the windows beside the balcony. Eames watched the other man stalk away, pleased despite the poor welcome to see that he was able to walk normally now. The man had a gait that spoke of confidence and independence, but also of modesty and restraint.

 

Eames saw Arthur sit down quickly, not needing to be careful now, and send him one final heated glare before he turned to his work. Eames was hurt and disappointed at their reunion, though he did not know why he had expected anything else now that it had actually happened. Obviously Eames would remind Arthur of that terrible night, dragging back the past he had clearly put so much effort into leaving behind.

 

He sighed just as Cobb returned to introduce their architect. Eames gave a quick hello, shaking the man’s hand distractedly. Once Nash left, Cobb stood beside him and followed his gaze curiously. When he saw Arthur leaning over his work, avidly ignoring both dream workers, Cobb chuckled lightly, “Don’t take it personally. He’s always been very dedicated to his work. He…well he doesn’t warm up to people very quickly…or often.”

 

Eames figured that despite how much Arthur had tried to leave that December night behind him, you couldn’t entirely move on from something like that without some repercussions. “When did you meet?” he asked curiously, deciding to try and slowly piece together a time line.

 

“September 2003,” Cobb spoke immediately. “He had written a book on dream theory; I tracked him down and started debating his theories. Eventually things got a little heated and I suggested we go down into a dream together to see who was right. Anyway, when I went under with Arthur there was a unique balance between our minds. It wasn’t the same as what I had with—with my wife, Mal, but we’ve been working together ever since while I try to get back to America.”

 

Eames nodded, having been told a little about Cobb’s past by the man earlier. He felt himself asking his next question before he had given it proper thought, “Do you know what he was up to before then? 2003, I mean.”

 

“No. Arthur is very good at finding or hiding any information he wants.” The extractor watched Arthur writing at the desk, lost in his facts and thoughts, before glancing back at Eames. “A word of advice: if you want to get on Arthur’s good side _don’t_ ask him about his past.” Cobb excused himself then to go pick up some maps, leaving Eames alone to stand in the middle of the hotel suite.

 

Arthur must have felt his gaze because the point man looked over and glared briefly before picking up his notebook and pen and moving out onto the balcony. There was so much he wanted to ask the other man, wanting to know what had happened to him after he had left. Had he gone to the hospital? Had he gone to the police? Had he told his family? How had he dealt with it? How had this transformation from old to new Arthur occurred? Was it genuine, had he really moved on, or was this a mask ready to crumble at any minute?

 

He had not realized he had moved until he felt the balcony door’s latch in his hands, sliding the door open. “Arthur…” he began hesitantly, not knowing where to start.

 

He was barely halfway onto the balcony, Arthur not even looking up from his notebook when he spoke, “Working.”

 

Eames sighed but nodded, stepping back into the hotel suite and sliding the door closed behind him. Who was he to push this man into talking about a past he had left behind him long ago? It was probably difficult enough having someone suddenly show up at your workplace that reminded you of a terrible night. Let alone the fact that Eames had been a stranger then and was still a stranger now who had witnessed Arthur at his most vulnerable moment. Forget the memories for a moment; Arthur probably hated him based purely on embarrassment.

 

Over the next few weeks he did his best to act like he and Arthur had just met, not asking the man any questions and not making any hints towards the past. He wouldn’t say that it caused Arthur to warm up to him since the point man still had a habit of looking at him like he was a bug that eventually needed crushing. But it mellowed him just enough that his professionalism trumped his embarrassment and hatred.

 

It was two nights before their job when Arthur finally invited him to dream share. He felt hope rise in his stomach before promptly being stepped on by Arthur’s next words, “You definitely need more practice on your role if you’re going to pull this off.”

 

He let out an angry scoff, insulted by Arthur’s words and frustrated that he had let his hopes get out of hand. “After you, darling,” he motioned stiffly to the PASIV machine, allowing Arthur to slip under first to create the dreamscape before Eames slipped under himself.

 

When he regained consciousness he groaned. Finding the target was his least favourite part of his job. It wasn’t uncommon for two dreamers to end up on completely opposite ends of a dreamscape, and if that dreamscape was a city it was a pain in the ass to find the mark. Luckily though, their upcoming job would be happening in a hotel/casino mix so he only had one building to contend with.

 

He checked the casino quickly before turning to the restaurant and bars. He found Arthur a short time later sitting at the end of a bar, one of the darker lit and more secluded ones available. Eames slipped on his new persona for the job, strutting towards Arthur but he stopped suddenly, role melting back to himself when he saw a projection pull away from the din. The man was tall and slightly overweight – both with too much fat and too much muscle. He sported a moustache that never had and never would be in style as those eyes came to rest on Arthur’s back.

 

Arthur had not seen the projection yet and Eames was already running, hating how panic and dream distortion made it feel like he was crossing a city block through syrup. As he got closer he saw the man grab both of Arthur’s wrists and pull them behind his back harshly. “You little slut, I’m going to give you what you deserve,” Eames heard the man bark as he pulled the frantically struggling Arthur off his stool before bending him over the bar.

 

Eames heard the sickening crack of Arthur’s head hitting the polished wood hard just before he was upon them. He shoved the man away with all his weight and momentum, holding onto Arthur so he was not yanked back as well. He put his body between the furious projection and Arthur, ready to beat the guy to a bloody pulp. But as the man lunged at him Eames heard a gunshot by his ear, leaving his head ringing as the man fell to the floor, dead. He turned sharply, in time to see one solitary tear fall from Arthur’s eyes before the point man pulled the trigger, waking them both up.

 

When he blinked his eyes open he saw that Arthur had his head in his hands, massaging one side of his head gingerly. So many more questions came into Eames’s mind, but most prominent was the anger and nausea at seeing Arthur’s rapist from six years ago. “Arthur…” he began hesitantly, expecting that nineteen-year-old to reappear.

 

“I can’t dream share with you,” Arthur spoke over him, raising his head from his hands. He appeared calm once again, if a little pale. But now Eames was positive that it was all just a mask. A well structured mask to be sure, but a mask nonetheless, ready to collapse.

 

“That doesn’t make sense; we went under twice before,” Eames forced himself to let the projection go for Arthur’s sake, remaining professional.

 

“I assume it was fine before because we went under as an entire team,” Arthur pushed himself out of the chair stiffly. Eames heard him take a deep breath before turning his gaze back to the forger. “I’ll see you in two days for the job, and then I want you out of my life. I don’t need this…” _I can’t deal with this_, his eyes screamed.

 

“Alright, whatever you say,” Eames felt his shoulders slump in defeat. He wanted to comfort Arthur but if the man did not want to be comforted he would just make things worse. He saw the point man send him a glare for reusing that line from six years ago but he couldn’t bring himself to apologize as Arthur left the room to return to his own for sleep.

 

The job two days later went off without a hitch – a simple success. Of course, that was a natural result from having the best Extractor, the best Point Man, and the best Forger all working together to steal someone’s secrets. It was clear that they had over-prepared but they didn’t complain, getting through the job quickly and as professionally as everyone knew how. There were no breakdowns, no rogue projections, and no hatred. Just professionalism and success.

 

Everyone took their share and bid each other farewell, going their separate ways. He and Arthur were the only two headed to the airport and it was an awkward excursion to say the least. They had both made it through check-in and security in complete silence; they might as well have been utter strangers. As they made it through the metal detectors Eames realized that they would be heading to different gates and Eames would never see this man again. “Arthur…”

 

“_What_ Eames?” Arthur spun on his heel, both of them standing slightly off to the side of the crowd wandering by security and through overpriced shops.

 

Eames took a breath, “Look, I’m going to stay out of your life. I promised I would and I’m going to stand by that. I just…I need to know…”

 

He swore that for just one moment those dark eyes went warm, face softening as Arthur contemplated Eames. The point man took a quiet breath, “I went to the hospital the next day, and I also pressed charges. Since there was…” Arthur’s cheeks took on a red tint, “still evidence they were able to put him away for life.”

 

“I’m really glad,” Eames gave a tiny smile, trying to reign in how genuinely relived he was so that he didn’t overdo it.

 

“I did it for you,” Arthur looked down at his shoes then, suddenly that unsure boy for just a split second. “To repay you.”

 

“I wanted you to do it for yourself,” Eames muttered, adding in a teasing exasperation as he took a small step forward.

 

“In the long run I did,” Arthur looked up at him to watch the forger slowly move closer to him, not stepping back. “I can appreciate that it was the right thing to do now. But back then it was the last thing I wanted…so I did it for you.”

 

“Then thank you, darling, honestly,” he smiled at the point man but stopped walking forward, leaving a small gap of distance between them.

 

Arthur nodded, beginning to take a few hesitant steps backwards, soon to be swallowed by the crowd. “You should know…” Eames saw him bite his lip in thought, “When I got to the hospital they said if you had not disinfected the cuts on my head and gotten me cleaned up there was a good chance I would’ve gotten a bad infection…You saved my life,” he blessed Eames with a small smile before slipping into the crowd, quickly disappearing from Eames’s view.

 

Eames stood there for a long while before he finally joined the swarm of people, allowing it to sweep him away towards his gate. There was a warm feeling in his stomach; happiness, relief. But he also felt a counterbalancing lump in his throat, making it painful to swallow and a little difficult to breathe. He was glad that Arthur was okay and was continuing on in life while so many others got dragged down by trauma like that. But he worried, knowing that someday that mask would fall. He wanted to be there to help the man through that, but Arthur had made his plea and he had to honour it.

 

**October 2010**

 

_October 5th_

 

To say he was surprised when Cobb asked him to join their team for another job would be a gross understatement. He was not surprised by Cobb showing up out of nowhere or the job itself, even if it was a near-impossible feat of inception. No. What surprised him were the implications behind Cobb showing up to ask him to join them. _Them_. Cobb and Arthur were the original team and that meant that they both had to agree upon who they brought onto a job.

 

Arthur had agreed to bring Eames in on the job, which meant that some part of him wanted Eames back in his life. Oh sure, a big part of the decision had probably been a professional one, wanting to get the job done right. But there were plenty of good thieves out there Arthur could have chosen instead of him. It had been four years since he had seen Arthur and almost ten since the night they met. He had left Arthur’s life like he had requested, but the desire to track him down was unbearable. Every day. For once Eames let his hope bloom inside him and take hold.

 

When Cobb led him into an abandoned Parisian warehouse he felt a little sick with nerves and excitement, mentally chiding himself for acting like a pre-teen girl. But he didn’t know what to expect, and that both terrified and energized him. Would Arthur’s mask still be in place, would it have developed, or had it disintegrated? Would he want to get closer to Eames, treat him the same, or realize he had made a huge mistake and demand he leave?

 

He walked into the warehouse behind Cobb, hands stuffed in his pockets to hide his fidgeting. They turned a corner, coming into a large room, and there was Arthur. He looked exactly like he had four years ago, precise and proper; though when Eames took a closer look he thought that the dark hair might be a little longer even though it was still slicked back into place.

 

But when Arthur heard their approach and looked up Eames felt his breath catch. Those searching brown eyes slipped by Cobb quickly before resting on Eames, and there was something in them as they looked at him that made Eames feel like he was on top of the world. Arthur didn’t smile at him, but he didn’t need to because there was a smile in his eyes; warmth, welcome, happiness. Some part of Arthur was genuinely _glad_ to see Eames.

 

Arthur straightened and Eames stopped moving, both men watching each other for some sign. Finally, Arthur rolled his eyes, “It certainly took you long enough to get here.”

 

Eames immediately noted the sarcasm and teasing in the other man’s voice, however faint it was. And he smirked in response, more than happy to take Arthur’s lead in how they would act around one another. Gone were the days of hatred and stoic professionalism. Here came the times of sarcasm and teasing banter. He swaggered forward to lean against a table near where Arthur was standing, “It’s good to see you too, pet.”

 

_October 17th_

 

Eames raised an eyebrow as Ariadne collapsed into a lawn chair beside him with a very dramatic, very drawn out sigh. “What’s gotten your knickers in a twist?” he asked jokingly, trying to cheer her up.

 

“It’s nothing,” she muttered, staring at her feet.

 

“It’s obviously something so lay it on me,” Eames leaned back in his chair, ready to take on the woes of teenage women.

 

Another drawn out sigh. A pause. “Arthur doesn’t like me.”

 

“What? Of course he likes you! He’s been teaching you all those paradoxes…and going into dreams with you…” he saw that it seemed to cheer her up slightly, but it wasn’t enough. “You know, he talked my ear off about that Penrose maze you made last week _forever_,” he added.

 

“Really?” her head perked up with a small smile. Eames nodded, pleased that he had cheered her up. But then, not two minutes later came another drawn out sigh. “But he doesn’t _like_ like me.”

 

Eames felt a small stab of jealously in his chest but pushed it aside. If this brilliant architect was what Arthur wanted and needed, then he would stay out of the way. “What makes you say that?” he decided to ask.

 

“Well at first he would always go out of his way to make sure I was doing alright, and smile, ask me questions, and include me. You know, take me under his wing,” she turned in her chair to stare at Eames seriously.

 

“So what changed?”

 

“Well…nothing really,” the young architect chewed her lip.

 

“Now I’m confused,” Eames muttered, struggling to remain neutral on the topic.

 

“He just seems very…distant,” Ariadne huffed, unable to express herself to her liking.

 

“Ah,” Eames hummed, finally understanding. He supposed that he was still probably the only person who knew about Arthur’s past, except for maybe Cobb if Arthur had decided to tell him. It made sense that Arthur would be distant when it came to relationships, especially sexual ones, after that December night even though it had been a long time ago now. If Arthur had never dealt with it then it would still be there, chipping away at his mask. Eames did not know if Arthur had been in any relationships afterwards, but based on how he acted and how fully he threw himself into his work Eames doubted it. “Look, Arthur’s a complicated guy and a little slow moving. Just be patient and if it’s meant to happen, it will.”

 

“Thanks Eames,” the girl flung her arms around the forger before returning to her models, a little bit more cheerful.

 

Eames sighed and pinched the bridge of his nose, trying desperately to wipe those words of advice from his own mind. “What was that about?” he heard a voice stop a short distance from his chair.

 

He blinked his eyes open, seeing a confused and curious looking Arthur watching him with a raised eyebrow. Eames smirked lightly, “Didn’t you know, darling? I’m an expert on the woes of teenage girls.” He laughed when Arthur merely rolled his eyes and returned to his desk.

 

_October 28th_

 

It was a few nights before their inception job and Eames had invited Arthur out for a drink. He did not know what had possessed him to ask but he was utterly blown away when Arthur agreed. Suddenly anxious to have everything go right he picked a bar in a rather posh restaurant, knowing it would suit Arthur’s tastes as well as be relatively quiet. He didn’t know what to make of the evening so he allowed Arthur to lead.

 

The point man grabbed a small booth by a slowly burning fireplace while Eames went to order their drinks. He returned shortly after, noticing that Arthur was watching him as he returned and slipped into the booth opposite him. They chatted occasionally but primarily sat there in silence, sipping their drinks. With anyone else Eames would not hesitate to call this an utter disaster of a date, but with Arthur it was…perfect. The silence was comfortable and the conversation, when it sprung up, was not forced.

 

He jolted out of his mindset quickly, realizing that he had accidentally been considering this a date. So, as sometimes happens with Eames, he spoke before he thought. “Ariadne likes you, you know.” Immediately he felt like dropping his head and hitting it repeatedly on the table. Even if it _wasn’t_ a date that was an awkward thing to say, even with the teasing tone he had adopted.

 

He wrapped his fingers tighter around his glass when he saw Arthur look up at him curiously, trying to read Eames’s face. Finally the point man looked down at the table. “I know she does. But I lost my heart to someone years ago.” Eames was startled to feel Arthur’s fingers brush against his own, pulling his hand away from the glass and twining their fingers together silently.

 

Eames looked down at their joined hands for a long moment, feeling his heart flutter, before he looked back up at Arthur. "Arthur, will you sleep with me tonight?" he asked seriously, gripping Arthur's hand a little tighter.

 

Arthur met his gaze for a moment before looking away sadly, "You know I can't."

 

"I wasn't talking about sex, love," he pulled Arthur's hand towards him and kissed the back of his hand softly, small smile playing on his lips. Arthur watched his hand, looking a little dazed, before he nodded. "Good, then let's get out of here," Eames smirked before pulling Arthur away from the booth and out onto the street.

 

They decided to walk the twenty minutes back to the hotel rather than hail a cab. The night air was refreshing and only slightly nippy as they walked close to one another. Eames thought happily to himself how much nicer this walk was compared to their first walk nearly ten years ago. Their pace was still slow, enjoying one another's company, but this was not forced by Arthur's pain. He wanted to share this thought with Arthur but did not want to drag up unwelcome memories and kept his mouth shut. However he saw Arthur look over at him as they walked, "What are you thinking about?"

 

"What makes you think I'm thinking about something?" Eames looked over curiously.

 

"You get this pained expression when you think too hard," Arthur joked, a pro at the deadpan tone.

 

"Ha bloody ha," Eames grumbled, unable to be too angry with Arthur when he saw a small smile of amusement play on those lips. "And...well I was thinking that this was a much nicer walk than our first one," he spoke nervously. He felt Arthur's fingers tighten around his quickly at the words as the point man watched his feet for a few minutes. "I shouldn't have brought it up."

 

Arthur shook his head as they entered the hotel lobby and headed for the elevator. "No it's...it's okay. I'm going to have to actually go back and deal with all of this soon," he met Eames's questing eyes, answering his silent question, “After this job.”

 

They were outside Eames's room now and Eames quickly pulled out his key, allowing Arthur to go in first. He realized, quite suddenly, that he did not know how to act. He did not know how cautious he should be, whether he should treat Arthur with the same care as he did ten years ago. Or had he moved on from that after all this time? He certainly had to have readjusted to showers by now, if nothing else, if he liked looking as prim and proper as he seemed to.

 

He had learned during their last job four years ago that a lot of who Arthur was had become a mask for him and that there were some cracks below it. But he doubted Arthur would appreciate Eames calling him out on it. He had no right to determine what part of Arthur was “real” and what part was a “mask” because it was all Arthur and it was entirely Arthur’s choice as to how he decided to behave. “Don’t strain yourself.”

 

Eames looked up to see Arthur watching him, slowly peeling off his suit jacket and hanging it carefully. He rolled his eyes as he slipped off his own jacket, not dignifying Arthur’s comment with a retort. Instead he distracted himself by pulling out some pyjama pants and a loose t-shirt, “Do you need to borrow a pair?” he asked, throwing the point man a set when he nodded.

 

Eames went to the washroom quickly before changing by the bed while Arthur went into the washroom to get ready to sleep. He had barely slipped under the sheets before Arthur stepped out of the bathroom hurriedly, hanging the rest of his clothes with care. “Why do you put so much effort into your appearance if you still hate showers?” he heard himself asking the other man, figuring it would be a good way to determine how much he was allowed to ask.

 

“Spending time on my appearance is an excuse I use to force myself to stay in the room longer. It’s sort of a challenge to myself,” Arthur admitted quietly as he stared down at the bed, standing stock still.

 

Eames noticed the other man’s hesitation, “I can sleep on the couch if you want and you can take the bed.”

 

He was already half off the bed when he heard Arthur’s hurried tone, “No, stay.”

 

“There’s no point making yourself uncomfortable, pet,” he spoke even as he slipped back under the covers, unable to resist the man’s request.

 

“I want to do it,” Arthur met his eyes, seriousness and a hint of desperation in those dark eyes. And then, seemingly decided, Arthur slipped under the sheets and curled up alongside Eames. He tensed noticeably when Eames slowly wrapped an arm around those thin shoulders, not minding the weight of Arthur resting on his arm. Once his arm was in place, loose so that Arthur could pull away if he wanted, he felt Arthur oh so slowly relax.

 

They lay there together, comfortable silence enveloping them. After a while Eames worked up the courage to break the silence, “I wanted to hold you like this...that night all those years ago.”

 

He felt Arthur shift so that he was resting on his side, arm slung freely over Eames’s chest. “I wish you had, even though I’m glad you didn’t,” Arthur responded, sounding tired and sad.

 

Eames leaned forward and kissed the top of Arthur’s hair slowly before laying back down against the pillows. He was surprised at how content he was, just lying here with the other man. Thinking back to that cold December night he began brushing his hand along Arthur’s hair, twining his fingers between strands to loosen the gel. Once that dark hair was free again he began combing his fingers through it, smiling as he heard that wonderful sigh of contentment. “You really like this, don’t you?”

 

“You always were the observant one, weren’t you?” Arthur retorted sarcastically, though his tone was mellowed with something Eames would swear had been a purr. They grew silent again as Eames continued running his fingers through Arthur’s hair. He had assumed the other man had drifted off so he was startled when he heard Arthur speak. “I’m sorry,” the point man whispered, voice heartbreaking.

 

“What the hell are you apologizing for?” Eames’s hand stilled, utterly bewildered by the man’s sudden apology.

 

“I can’t give you everything you want, Eames,” Arthur began quietly, speaking against Eames’s chest to avoid his gaze. “I want you – but I can’t. I’m sorry that you have to be so careful with me.”

 

“Arthur, love, _really_. Act like the intelligent man you are for just one moment,” Eames began petting that ebony hair again since Arthur would not look up at him. “I’m on top of the bloody world right now, darling. All I want is you. Whatever you’re comfortable giving – that’s enough for me. And don’t you dare ever apologize to me again for acting the way you want to act. If you don’t want to do something or you’re not comfortable then I want to know.”

 

He noticed warm moisture on his shirt and realized that a few stray tears must be escaping the point man’s eyes, though Arthur did not hint towards this in any way. He realized that Arthur’s mask seemed to be slowly crumbling around him, after all these years with it firmly in place. Suddenly he felt a slight indent on Arthur’s head when he brushed his fingers against the scalp. He traced the healed gash as he continued, “You never have to apologize for what happened to you. Not to me or yourself or anyone else. And you don’t have to wear your mask around me – if you don’t want to. I’ve wanted to help you in any way I can for ten years and that is not about to change.”

 

Eames heard a controlled sniffle before Arthur pulled away to wipe away the tears he was trying to pretend didn’t exist. In the dark silence of their hotel room Eames watched a mask of control and indifference take hold of Arthur’s face again. He was saddened to see those true emotions disappear but knew Arthur needed to do what made him comfortable. “Maybe someday,” Arthur finally muttered once he felt confident in his mask and voice again, “But I can’t afford to lose my focus right before this job. Personal matters will have to wait.”

 

The forger gave a noticeable eye roll so that he was sure the man could see it before gently taking hold of those narrow shoulders and leading him back down to the mattress. He felt Arthur stiffen for just a moment before relaxing again, working past his flashback and lying down beside Eames, both of them relishing the shared heat between them. “You know I’ll support you, love,” Eames muttered, on his back while Arthur rested on his side again, one arm holding the forger close, “But some day you need to take some time for yourself.”

 

They both fell into silence then, breathing slowing down as they relaxed into the warmth and the mattress. Eames felt his mind begin to drift when he suddenly heard Arthur’s questioning voice, “...Eames?” Blinking his eyes tiredly, he forced himself back out of semi-consciousness and gave a grunt to show he was listening. “After inception I’m going home to work through my past. If you’re willing...I’d like for you to come with me. I’d feel more secure...safer.”

 

The only way Eames could describe what he felt at those words was that it felt like a sun had gotten caught in his chest and decided to keep burning brightly anyway. Arthur felt _safe_ with him. Despite the flinches and tension in those muscles when he accidentally moved too quickly or accidentally mimicked a long ignored memory, Arthur was coming to trust him anyway. Despite everything. “You know I’ll be by your side, pet.”

 

“If we’re going to try and have a relationship with each other there’s a lot more you need to know about me first, and a lot of my past I need to face and deal with,” Arthur mumbled through multiple yawns.

 

“For one moment put those thoughts behind you, Arthur. I invited you up here to _sleep_, not to try your best to scare me away from my feelings for you,” he chose his wording carefully, not wanting to emotionally crowd the point man further at the moment.

 

“Did it work at all?” Arthur asked, half serious and half joking.

 

“Not in the least, I’ll have you know,” Eames chuckled before carefully slipping his arm around Arthur. He felt Arthur give a tiny chuckle against his chest before nuzzling against the forger and falling asleep, curled up safely in that protective hold.

 

_October 30th_

 

They were a team of naturals, working with one another perfectly. When things started to go downhill and they were forced to improvise everyone worked off each other’s strengths, supporting one another through their weaknesses. Everyone remained professional and did everything they had to do in order to make inception a success. He was still surprised when they disembarked the plane in Los Angeles, but when he thought back he realized that he shouldn’t be.

 

He followed everyone else through customs and baggage claim, everyone remaining silent in nervous anticipation while Cobb stepped up and past customs onto American soil. No one really spoke, lost in their own thoughts and with the cautious rule that they not acknowledge knowing one another immediately after a job. It made sense and kept everyone safe but Eames had to admit that standing beside Arthur and not being able to talk to him while they waited for their bags was slowly killing him.

 

Arthur’s bag came first but he remained beside Eames, appearing nonchalant while waiting for a nonexistent second bag. Eames’s bag came in the next round and he could not help the tiny smile that appeared when Arthur left the conveyer belt at the unspoken signal of Eames pulling his bag off the rotating station. He trailed behind Arthur, partially to leave space between them and partially because he didn’t actually know where they were going.

 

He gave tiny nods to Yusuf, Ariadne and Saito as he followed Arthur down a long hallway towards a shuttle train that traveled between parking garages and other terminals in the airport. A train was sitting in the station, doors hung open, sign flashing the destination _Terminal 2_. He raised a curious eyebrow as he discreetly slipped onto the same small train car behind Arthur just as the doors began to close. This left the two of them alone as the shuttle pulled away from the station smoothly.

 

Eames held onto the handrail beside Arthur, both of them giving one another a tiny smile. Slowly, feeling the confidence and adrenaline rush of a hard job completed running through his veins, he cautiously lent forward. Arthur watched him warily but did not pull away. Eames kept his hands to himself, holding himself steady as he tilted forward. He felt his lips brush against Arthur’s briefly before Arthur turned his head, Eames’s lips planting a soft kiss at the corner of his mouth instead.

 

He stayed there for a moment longer before languidly pulling away. Eames saw Arthur’s look of regret and frustration so he gave the man a brilliant smile, showing that he was more than happy. That seemed to help Arthur push his worry aside before looking out the window, watching Terminal 2 approach. Eames watched the building’s approach as well as the train slowed, “So where are we going, love?”

 

Arthur did not look at him as he watched the station pull up outside the train windows. Eames could see a sign reading ‘_Domestic Flight Departures_’ as the doors opened. Arthur finally spoke as they stepped out onto the platform, bags pulled along behind them as they headed to buy plane tickets, “Hutchinson, Kansas.”

 

**November 2010**

 

_November 1st_

 

“Tell me what’s wrong,” Eames spoke softly, leaning against the streaked glass of their hotel balcony sliding door. He watched Arthur sitting on the bed, entirely wrapped up in winter clothes and ready to brave the outside world…but completely unmoving. This was their second day in Kansas and their second day spent in the hotel room. It was a similar pattern each day: wake up, order breakfast, get dressed for the chilly weather…and then Arthur would sit there on the bed until finally it got too hot in the room and he gave up for the day.

 

Eames had nowhere he’d rather be and didn’t mind waiting for Arthur to move at the pace he was comfortable with. But he had never seen the point man this unsure since that first December night and wanted to help pull him through it. “I can’t bring myself to start,” Arthur muttered sourly, eyes trained on his shoes. “I don’t want to face my past and I don’t want you to see it.”

 

“Why not?” Eames asked, even though he was pretty sure he knew the answer.

 

“You’ll leave me,” Arthur spoke with such belief in those words that Eames immediately felt himself push away from the sliding door towards the other man.

 

He sat down beside Arthur on the bed, their thighs brushing slightly. He raised one hand slowly and lifted it to touch Arthur’s cheek, turning the other man’s gaze towards him. He bit back his sigh when the point man flinched for a second before allowing his face to be turned. “Arthur, I’m not going anywhere. I can promise you that.”

 

“No you can’t,” Arthur muttered, looking away even though he kept his cheek against Eames’s warm palm. “There’s so much in my past that will make you despise me.” As he spoke the words Arthur began pulling his scarf off and peeling away the winter jacket.

 

With a tiny sigh Eames helped him remove the winter clothes when the point man’s arm got caught in a sleeve. Then Eames began removing his own winter attire, knowing they would not be going anywhere today. When they were both dressed for indoor temperatures again he noticed Arthur’s shoulders slump forward and head bow in defeat. He pushed himself off the bed and knelt down in front of the other man, forcing him to meet his eyes. “Arthur, I love you. _All_ of you.”

 

He saw Arthur’s jaw clench as he fought to control his emotions, though Eames could see his eyes glisten with unshed tears. “I love you too.” Eames smiled and carefully took one of Arthur’s hands in each of his own, pulling them away from where they had been resting on his knees. He tilted them in his grasp so that those smooth palms were facing up. Then he leaned forward and placed a gentle kiss on each of those upturned palms. When he pulled away he saw Arthur watching him, “We’ll go tomorrow, alright?”

 

“Alright,” Eames nodded.

 

_November 2nd_

 

They hadn’t made it out of the hotel room, but Arthur had decided he was ready to talk anyway. They were both sprawled out on the bed beside one another, winter jackets and scarves thrown haphazardly on the ground in tired frustration. “I never told anyone after it happened, and I asked that the hospital and police not release any information.”

 

“How did you explain everything then?” Eames asked, watching the ceiling while imagining what Arthur told him.

 

“I told them I got mugged on the way to the airport. They believed me,” he felt the bed move slightly as Arthur shrugged along with his words. “There are some days I’m glad they did, and other days I wish they had noticed I was lying…You were—you _are_ the only one who knows the truth.”

 

Arthur stopped speaking then, seeming to lose his motivation to continue on through his memories. Eames tilted his head to the side to watch Arthur while the point man watched the ceiling. Arthur’s words weighed heavily on his heart and he wondered if he’d ever be able to help the other man through this.

 

_November 3rd_

 

The wind had a biting chill to it as they got out of the car they had rented. Eames had followed Arthur’s precise directions through the suburban streets, eventually coming to park outside of a slightly rundown one-story house. They both stood on the sidewalk, huddled against the wind, and Eames waited patiently for Arthur. Eventually the point man began, “This was my home when I grew up. I had to sell it when mom passed away a few years after it happened. I was restless and only stayed in Hutchinson for her sake.”

 

“No friends or other family?” Eames asked cautiously, looking over the house and trying to imagine Arthur growing up there.

 

“I had two other friends. Well, three if you counted Brian, but I don’t think you could really call us normal friends,” Arthur looked down at the sidewalk, a flash of guilt in that face before the point man looked up at him. “Come on, there’s another house you need to see.” Eames watched Arthur pull open the passenger door before slipping around the car to retake the driver’s seat silently. He could tell that there was more Arthur wanted to say.

 

For a few minutes it was just silence punctuated with short directions and then Arthur tapped his finger against the glass of the window; one of the nervous habits that seemed to appear as the mask slowly slipped away. “Eric and Wendy, those were my friends. Wendy I knew since we were children and she knew most of my secrets. She was understanding of my choices, even if she didn’t approve. I think I worried her sick most of our lives with all the stupid things I did. She was the one I was staying with in New York, though when you asked on the train I knew I couldn’t bring myself to tell her.”

 

“Where is she now?” Eames asked as he rolled to a stop, waiting for a traffic light to change.

 

“New York still, doing something with music last I heard. We haven’t spoken in a long time. I didn’t tell her exactly what happened but she could tell it was something serious…she understood when I told her that I couldn’t stay in New York,” Arthur watched the passing houses, occasionally muttering a new direction. “She tried to take care of me and to help me through, but she could only do so much when she didn’t know the problem. Wendy is the one who actually suggested I go into dream work,” the point man seemed to add as an afterthought.

 

“Really?” Eames prompted.

 

“Yeah. She gave me a book on dream theory to read because I could never sleep through the night with all of my nightmares. It sounded like the perfect escape but I never had the courage to do anything at that point,” in the silence Eames could hear the steady tapping of nails on glass. “I told her about how wonderful it sounded; being able to escape into any world I wanted. Not to mention the fact that too much dream work stops your ability to dream. She threatened to kick my ass until I agreed to at least try.”

 

Eames chuckled; it sounded like he’d like this woman. And it also sounded like she was the reason he got another opportunity to reconnect with Arthur. “Well I have her to thank then.”

 

Arthur sent him a small smile, fingers no longer tapping the glass nervously. “I met Eric when we were teenagers. He liked me as more than a friend but I couldn’t give him what he was looking for so we stayed friends. He was supportive but didn’t quite understand. Of course, that was probably because I never told him everything like Wendy.”

 

“Do you still talk with him?”

 

“Not really. On rare occasion we’ll talk but it’s about the same amount as with Wendy. But he’s actually in Florida…with Brian,” Arthur smiled cautiously at his hands as he spoke these words.

 

That private smile, tinged with something like sadness caught Eames’s attention, “And who’s this Brian fellow?”

 

But before he could get an answer, Arthur looked out the window quickly and yelled, “Stop! This is it.” Eames hit the brakes and pulled the car up by the curb in front of another one-story house, this one also white but tinted blue by a security light. He forced himself to hold back his questions as he watched Arthur stare out the window at the house. He grew worried though when he noticed Arthur’s breathing pick up and his body start shivering despite the heat blasting from the car’s vents. “Eames, can we leave?”

 

“But--”

 

“Eames, _please_,” Arthur turned to look at him, a desperate plea in those eyes.

 

The forger nodded. “Alright,” was all he spoke before he shifted the car back to ‘drive’ and pulled away from the curb, knowing without words that Arthur had reached his limit for the day and would want to go back to the hotel. He didn’t know what to say and Arthur seemed too busy holding his mask in place to speak so the trip in the car and up to their room was made in silence.

 

Arthur entered their room first, flinging winter clothing off harshly like they were covered in acid. Eames closed the door behind them but suddenly felt his back hit the door as Arthur pushed him against it. The feel of those soft lips against his own made him groan despite the desperation and frustration in Arthur’s frantic movements. It was only when he felt Arthur trembling against him, body flush with his own, that he found the willpower to push Arthur away slightly. “Not that I didn’t enjoy that but what the hell?”

 

And that was when the tears began to fall. He took a step towards the other man, fear gripping him as Arthur hastily took a few steps back. It was like that strong mask had suddenly acquired one new crack and that was just enough to cause the entire thing to shatter around Arthur, leaving him without any safety net or barriers. “Arthur it’s just me, Eames. Come on, darling, talk to me,” he begged, stomach twisting when Arthur took another two steps away from him.

 

Tears still falling quickly, soaking through Arthur’s carefully pressed shirt, Arthur suddenly made a dash for the balcony door with a dangerous intent in his face. Eames did not regret grabbing Arthur and pulling him back into the room even though it caused a horrible scream to escape those lips. He was positive that if he had been two seconds slower Arthur would have been over the railing, and that brought up tears of his own that he had to fight away to remain calm.

 

Of course, even though he had managed to keep Arthur from jumping, he now had to deal with him as he fought with regressed memories. Eames swallowed, wondering how much progress this would erase as he locked the balcony door behind him. He worried that Arthur would run for the door, leading to more memories of being chased, but instead he just seemed to back away from Eames. He wasn’t paying attention though and tripped on the bed, a terrified yelp escaping as Arthur frantically pulled himself away from the bed and into the far corner of the room.

 

Eames stayed by the balcony door, heart shattering to pieces as he watched Arthur curl up into a ball underneath the desk. He immediately wanted to go to Arthur’s side to try and calm him down but he was dealing with the mindset of a nineteen year old rape victim now, and his actions had somehow triggered this. So he remained motionless, trying to make himself not look like a threat, until Arthur slowly seemed to calm down.

 

He took very slow, hesitant steps as he crossed the room, speaking constantly in that hushed tone he had used ten years ago. Reminding Arthur who he was, explaining his movements, giving Arthur a way to track his position in the room. Eventually he sat down on the carpet in front of Arthur, leaving enough space between them that the other man would not feel cornered. Not like he seemed to notice anyway, head buried into his knees and sobs shaking those shoulders. “Talk to me love, please.”

 

Arthur looked up, eyes red and tears consuming his face. Eames had a hard time understanding what the other man when he finally spoke, voice weak and trembling, “I love you.”

 

“Then why would you try to kill yourself, Arthur?” Eames asked desperately, barely able to form the words as they caught in his throat.

 

“Because I’m _tainted_,” Arthur hiccupped and began sobbing all over again, even though he was wearing his body to the edge.

 

“You’re _what_?” Eames felt his eyes narrow in sudden anger. “That’s it. I’m coming under that desk this instant, whether you want me to or not.”

 

“Don’t…” Arthur muttered half-heartedly as Eames shuffled forward and ducked his head down to slip into the tiny space under the desk beside Arthur. But despite his protests, Arthur immediately turned and buried his face in Eames’s chest as soon as the man was settled, promptly ruining the forger’s shirt.

 

Those shaky fingers clutched his shirt as Eames wrapped his arms around Arthur and held him close. He felt close to tears himself at Arthur’s belief that he was dirty, ruined…tainted, barely able to consider how far it had pushed Arthur. Eames had almost lost him…permanently. He swallowed and buried his nose in that ebony hair, realizing how he had taken the smell of Arthur’s spicy shampoo for granted. “You are no such thing, love. Never, never, never think of yourself that way because you’re not…and I can’t live without you.”

 

“Yes I am, don’t you see? They used me and ruined me. They distorted my perspective to suit them and dirtied me. They tainted me and now I’m worthless. You deserve someone so much better,” Arthur was talking like he was trying to get Eames to leave, though he held the forger so tightly that Eames wouldn’t be able to escape if he wanted to – which he didn’t. _They?_ Eames thought to himself, but pushed away the thought for the moment.

 

“Arthur, look at me,” he gripped that wet chin and forced Arthur to look up at him seriously. He saw those brown eyes look up at him, half-glazed and dull. “You are not worthless. You mean more to me than anything in this bloody world, not to mention how much you mean to the rest of the team. You are amazing Arthur; incredibly strong, pure and independent despite everything you’ve suffered, and I damn well admire you.” He stared down at Arthur, not a hint of teasing in his eyes or face. “You’ve managed to make a life of yourself for ten years…you can’t—you can’t let them beat you now.”

 

It wasn’t his words that truly made the difference, Eames realized with a little exasperation. But when Eames felt a few tears slowly trail down his own cheeks at the thought of losing Arthur, well that struck a chord. Arthur blinked up at him, suddenly calming down in what Eames could only think was shock. He wanted to roll his eyes at Arthur for needing to see him cry before believing him, but he was too busy being a baby at that moment.

 

Eames felt butterfly soft kisses land on his cheeks as Arthur leaned up and kissed away his tears. He felt like glaring at the man for suddenly putting aside all of his problems and focusing on Eames, like _Eames_ was the one who had crawled under a hotel desk to cry. But he didn’t, letting his eyes drift closed at the comforting sensation instead. He did blink his eyes open though when he felt one of Arthur’s palms cup his face and salty lips brush his own hesitantly. “Wait love, that’s what started this in the first place.”

 

Arthur pulled away, looking sad and annoyed, “I want to show you how much I love you.”

 

“I already believe you, pet,” Eames brushed some of that black hair away, not sure when it had fallen out of place. “You don’t need to do something that will make you uncomfortable.”

 

“But I want you.” The look Arthur gave him caused a shock of desire to pass through his body that he had to force down.

 

He licked his lips nervously as he realized that it had most likely been ten years for the point man. That thought made him a little flustered as he tried to calm himself down. “Darling there’s no rush. We have the rest of our lives to do whatever we want…when we’re _comfortable_.” Arthur sighed but relented, though Eames suddenly felt Arthur shifting into his lap to curl up, not helping Eames’s situation at all. “You little minx,” he groaned, eyes narrowing when he heard a tiny chuckle.

 

Neither of them planned it but they were both soon asleep, not waking up until the late afternoon. Eames could not help but imagine the sight they must have presented if a maid were to have come into their room to clean. Two fully grown men tucked under the hotel desk, one curled up in the other’s lap and both of them dead asleep. Still, despite the stiff muscles they both had to stretch out when they finally woke up, neither of them had slept that well in a long time.

 

_November 4th_

They were outside that white house tinted blue once again and this time it was still relatively early in the morning. When they woke up that day, finally feeling rested, Arthur had seemed reluctant but determined to get this over with. Eames sensed an aura of impatience around the man, like ten years was just too long to suit Arthur and waiting another day was simply not acceptable.

 

Arthur had decided to drive this time and they sat in the car, warm air streaming from the car vents. There was a rusting minivan in the driveway and a few lights could be seen through the windows, indicating that someone was living there. “Well it looks like we can’t go in there but that’s alright. Brian and I faced our demons in there around Christmas after I got back into town.”

 

“So who lived here, and who is this Brian?” Eames tore his gaze away from the house to look at the point man.

 

Arthur gripped the steering wheel tightly as if they were about to crash despite the fact that the car was set to ‘park’. “My softball coach lived here – just for one summer. I was his favourite player so he always paid me special attention; took me to movies, invited me over to play videogames, that sort of thing. But then one day I was hungry and he gave me some of those mini cereal boxes to eat.”

 

“When I tried to open one it split apart and everything fell to the floor. I was so worried he would be angry because I really liked him. But suddenly he started throwing his cereal around and pouring it on my head...as an eight year old it was fun,” Arthur shrugged, looking over at Eames who was remaining quiet to listen. “And then...” a deep shuddering breath, “he touched me.”

 

Eames felt his eyes snap to Arthur so quickly it hurt. “He did _what_?”

 

“He touched me, and then got me to touch him. We had sex...it lasted all summer,” Arthur’s hands were still clutched around the steering wheel, knuckles white as he stared at his lap. “The worst part was that I thought it was right—I thought I loved him. I didn’t know what love actually was until—until you.” Eames stared out of the front windshield, not meeting Arthur’s questing eyes. “But until that time, after he disappeared at the end of that summer I kept searching for that, trying to find it again—what I thought love was, and it fucked me up.”

 

“And what about Brian?” Eames heard himself ask, lips moving at their own accord. A part of him wanted to step out of the car to get some fresh air—to run. But Arthur had made it through this once, and now he was going through it again and Eames could not leave him alone now.

 

“Brian was another kid on my softball team. Even though I was special to the coach he sometimes brought other boys to join us. It was my job to make it look fun—like a game you would want to play. And that’s what I did to Brian when the coach brought him home with us one time after a game got rained out.” Eames saw Arthur bow his head, regret and guilt evident on his face.

 

Arthur continued without looking at him, “He repressed the memories but they slowly started to return and I told him everything when he tracked me down and I came back from New York. I felt like killing myself that night with him crying in my lap, nose bleeding as he remembered all of those memories...It was entirely my fault.”

 

Eames was absolutely speechless, staring at the dashboard blankly. Eames felt more anger than he had ever felt in his life, second only to that cold December night. He wondered morbidly how Arthur had even managed to pick himself up, dust himself off, and continue on after everything he had dealt with in this short lifetime. He was too wrapped up in his thoughts to notice the silence until he heard Arthur whisper, “I’ll understand if you want me to get out of the car and leave. I know my way back to the hotel from here.”

 

The shell shocked forger blindly reached for Arthur’s hand, gripping it and the steering wheel under it tightly. “Where is this man?” he asked, voice hard as he continued staring fixedly at the dashboard. He refused to look at Arthur in this moment, fearing that Arthur would misunderstand Eames’s anger and disgust as being directed towards him rather than this..._softball coach_. He had to force down a growl of protective rage as his mind kept spinning around the idea.

 

“Dead. I searched for him for years and eventually I came across an article by chance. Moved to some southern town, found a new boy, father found out and shot him. He was dead before the ambulance arrived,” Arthur spoke in monotone like he was reading a very dull history textbook.

 

Eames took a few deep breaths, trying to calm himself down. But when that didn’t work he quickly tore off his seatbelt and stepped out of the car, slamming the door closed behind him. He stood on the sidewalk, hands stuffed angrily in his pockets as he stared at that blue-tinted house. However that just made him angrier so he turned on his heel and leaned against the car. The biting air helped clear his mind a bit, though it only put his body more on edge. 

 

He heard the far car door open and close quietly and he watched Arthur walk around the car to stand a few steps away from Eames. He saw Arthur place the rented car keys on the metal roof, raising a confused eyebrow at the point man. “Get in the car. I can find my way back from here,” Arthur ordered, jaw clenched and mask of indifference in place.

 

It was a slow process, dragging his mind away from the hurricane it had become and Eames struggled to comprehend Arthur’s words. “Huh?” he eventually managed unintelligently.

 

“It’s okay. I knew once you found out you wouldn’t be able to love me anymore. I understand; you’re free to leave,” Arthur stood stiffly in the cold November wind, not even making an effort to block some of his body from the cold.

 

Eames _finally_ jolted back to complete consciousness then, hearing the betrayal and pain in that voice. Reading the heartbreak and anger in those eyes. “Arthur...” he turned to the point man fully, body tense and serious, “I got out of the car to make sure I didn’t scare or startle you until I calmed down. What I feel for you has not wavered in the slightest. That doesn’t mean I’m not vibrating with rage and disgust right now, but that’s aimed at this softball coach and the fact that the world took him away before I could break his face.”

 

Eames watched as that betrayal, self-hatred and heartbreak melted from Arthur’s face and posture. In its place came disbelief and embarrassment. Eames swore Arthur would have shuffled his feet shyly if he had an ounce less control over himself in that moment. Slowly Arthur took the two steps required to stand side by side with him, “I need you to let this go with me. He’s dead, we’re two decades too late, and I just want to put it behind me.”

 

Eames let out a shuddering breath as Arthur placed a hesitant hand on his arm, all of his anger and disgust evaporating at that soft touch and quiet plea. For a moment he remained standing, leaning against the car as he slowly forced himself back to a controlled calm. He was being selfish here. This wasn’t about him; it was about Arthur. But here was Eames throwing a temper tantrum with the point man calming _him_ down.

 

Finally he felt his mindset settle and he turned to Arthur. He opened his arms to show his intent before he took a careful step towards the other man. They met each other halfway, Eames stepping forward and Arthur rushing into his arms, burying his face in Eames’s scarf. The forger felt arms wrap around his waist, pushing his jacket up slightly so that Arthur’s fingers could clutch his shirt. Eames felt an uncomfortable chill of air slip under his jacket but he couldn’t bring himself to care as he held Arthur. “You are fucking amazing, darling.”

 

Arthur gave a humourless bark of laughter before pulling away, looking suddenly resigned, “There’s one more thing you need to know; you need to see where I worked—what I did. And if you can look at me the way you are now after you know—know everything…well first of all you’ll be a moron, but I’ll have to believe you,” Arthur shook his head sadly. “I wouldn’t love me.”

 

“Well let’s go face this big bad secret,” Eames crossed his arms in challenge. “I’m more than ready to finally have you believe that I’m not going anywhere—that how I feel about you isn’t going to change. Despite everything in your past, Arthur—despite everything.”

 

Arthur nodded and picked the car keys off the roof where they had been resting, momentarily forgotten. Eames slipped back into the passenger seat, car uncomfortably cold now since the vents had turned off when Arthur removed the keys and killed the ignition. Arthur slipped behind the steering wheel silently and started the car again, pulling away from the curb and easily winding through the maze of suburban streets.

 

Eames truly didn’t know what to expect, though he assumed that it would have something to do with how being molested had affected him as he grew up. He wasn’t quite sure how to react when they turned off a main street and began traveling through a winding road through a park. They passed absolutely no one as they followed the winding road, probably due to the chill and the dreary weather.

 

Arthur pulled the car to a stop in a tiny parking lot a short distance from a sandpit with swings, slides, and other playground equipment that probably should have been condemned three decades ago. Eames heard Arthur take in a hiss of air through his teeth suddenly, “Someone’s here working right now.” Eames followed Arthur’s gaze and saw a beautiful blond boy, probably mid teens, leaning against the swing-set support and smoking lazily. But before he could ask any questions Arthur as already half out of the car muttering, “I have to talk to him.”

 

Without much choice in the matter Eames slipped out of the car and followed Arthur across the dead grass towards the play area. The boy noticed them, pushing himself away from the rusty metal lethargically, looking bored as he turned his attention to the two approaching men. Eames was still a few steps behind Arthur when the teen spoke, “I don’t usually take two at once but since you’re both hot I’ll do it. I’m charging double, though.”

 

Both dream workers stopped in their tracks, Arthur because he was close to the boy and Eames because a lightning bolt of shock had struck him dumb. _You need to see where I worked—what I did_, Arthur’s voice echoed in his mind even as the real man began speaking to the boy. “Why are you doing this?”

 

The teen suddenly went tense, taking a nervous step back, “You cops?”

 

“No, we’re not cops,” Arthur didn’t make an effort to keep the same distance with the boy. Eames could read how tense the point man was even through his winter jacket. Shoulders hunched up, neck strained. He seemed acutely aware of Eames standing a short distance behind him, practically vibrating with nerves, but it was clear to Eames that the teen was his priority at that moment. “I used to be like you. I used to do what you did.”

 

The teen seemed to relax then, taking a long drag of his cigarette so that a third of it burned away, “What and now you come here to take the other side? Bring another guy with you for some threesome action? That’s kind of messed, man.”

 

“I’m here to warn you away from doing this,” Arthur spoke calmly, posture stiff. Eames had no doubt that Arthur was probably forcing away a wave of memories while he tried to remain stoic in front of this boy.

 

“Warn me away? Dude, you used to do this; you know how great it is—how great it feels. Getting sucked off and fucked for money? Hell yes, bring it on,” the teen smirked, eyes glancing briefly to Eames before returning to rest on Arthur as he dropped his finished cigarette to the ground and pulled out a new one. “Or are you here to share the wonderful wisdom of finding ‘the one’?” he quoted mockingly.

 

The teen’s words caused a sickening dread to flow through Eames; it felt like liquid ice was running down his spine. He felt guilty immediately for the sense of nausea that overcame him, but he couldn’t help it. The thought of Arthur selling his body away in search of a similar so-called ‘love’ his coach had manipulated him into believing. The idea of him allowing people to touch him without love, for their own selfish pleasure, and teaching him the entirely wrong things about love and sex. The realization that Arthur’s molestation had disrupted his life and pushed him onto this new path that eventually led him to being raped before he had even left his teenage years.

 

It was hard to pull himself out of his thoughts to hear Arthur’s next words. “Talking to you about love would be a waste of all of our time. I know because I was in your position once. No,” he shook his head, taking a threatening step forward, putting another step between him and Eames. “I’m here to warn you about how unsafe this is.”

 

“I know about Aids and all that crap, man. I _am_ in high school, you know. I’m not a fucking idiot, and I don’t appreciate you coming out here and scaring away my business to act like some pretentious prick.” Another wave of sickened anger caused Eames’s cheeks to burn. This _child_ was still in high school; how old had Arthur been when he started?

 

“You think it’s safe – that you’re invincible and it could never happen to you, but trust me when I say that eventually it will.” Arthur’s voice shook a little as he spoke and Eames saw him turn ever so slightly, about to look at Eames, but suddenly face forward again.

 

“Aww, what happened to scare the all-knowing prick away from the easiest job in the world?” the teen jutted his bottom lip out with a mocking pout that Eames wanted to slap off his face.

 

“I was raped,” Arthur spoke and for just one moment the world seemed to go on mute. The wind in the trees did not cause a rustling sound, the birds did not sing, the metal chains of the swings did not creak as they swayed in the breeze. Eames took one step towards Arthur before freezing again, not knowing if the other man wanted comfort or to stand alone.

 

Arthur was as stiff as a ramrod, watching the other teen blink at him stupidly for a moment. And then Eames really wanted to punch the kid to a bloody pulp when the teen had the audacity to laugh. He saw Arthur jolt slightly, all of his muscles wound tight and tense under his clothing. “Dude, if you can’t take a little rough sex then you were not _meant_ for this job.”

 

“I am not talking about rough sex,” Arthur suddenly spat, stepping forward quickly and plucking the half burned cigarette from the teen’s lips, throwing it to the sand. “The only reason I survived the encounter is because of that man.” Eames jumped slightly when Arthur pointed at him viciously. The forger saw both the teen and the point man look at him, the boy with a look of curious disbelief and Arthur with a look of such gratitude that Eames forgot to breathe.

 

The teen made a sound, like he was considering arguing, but Arthur whirled his attention back on him sharply. “You know, he was a pretty ordinary guy. Drove up beside me as I was walking home; maybe a little impatient but hey, some of them are, right?” Arthur stepped into the teen’s personal space, quivering with anger. “Then when we got to his place he forced me to take cocaine and strip. You’re still thinking this isn’t sounding so bad.” Arthur took another step closer as the teen backed himself against the swing-set, trembling.

 

“He spat on me, he slapped me, he forced me to my knees and then he gripped my face just like this,” Arthur reached up and caught the teen’s chin in his hand, holding so tightly that the skin at contact turned white. “He forced my mouth open and shoved himself in. I couldn’t _breathe_; he was shoved so far down my throat. Do you understand that?”

 

That seemed to be a rhetorical question since Arthur did not wait for a response. He let go of the teen’s face carefully and continued, “I ran to the bathroom and locked it behind me. I knew I was in a dangerous place but at that moment I still hadn’t quite got it. That changed when he used a knife to undo the latch keeping the door closed. He hit me on the side of the head with it and I fell into the tub, dazed and barely able to tell which way was up.”

 

Eames could see it all in his head and he felt a sickness rising in his throat. He remembered seeing that gash half-lost in blood-soaked hair, and then tracing it just yesterday. The small part of his mind that was still able to think normally was shocked that Arthur was still speaking, let alone standing, but he realized that Arthur was probably so far into his memory that he couldn’t pull himself out – could do nothing but speak what he was seeing. Eames wanted to go to him, truly he did, but he was quite sure that his knees would collapse under him if he moved.

 

“I tried to get up—get away,” Arthur was continuing and Eames wanted to cry, wanted to ask him to stop. “All I managed to reach was the taps, turning one on as I tried to pull myself up. The spray was frigid and it poured over me as that man gripped my legs, spread them without a single thought beyond his own selfish need, and thrust himself into me dry.”

 

“Please stop,” Eames heard the teen sob, body pressed up against the metal supports as Arthur continued his story. “Please.”

 

“Do you think me begging for him to stop changed anything?” Arthur roared instead and Eames felt his body shake. This was a man who had suffered, who had been kicked down, who had been abused…who had finally had enough. “No, he just fucked me harder as he lost himself in _my pain_. He began hitting me with a shampoo bottle and I could see my own blood mixing with the shower spray and slip down the drain. I guess that was all it took for him because he came inside me then. Do you know what that felt like? Even as he pulled out, a part of him was still inside me, marking me, _tainting me_. I haven’t felt clean for a single fucking day in my life since.”

 

Arthur finally took a small step back as the teen fell to his knees crying, uncaring of the cold sand sticking to his jeans. Even though his voice was quieter, calmer, Eames could tell that Arthur was still not himself. The point man was still lost in everything he had not allowed himself to feel for ten years. “Do you understand?” he heard Arthur ask in a deadly tone, seeing the boy nod his head frantically as he continued to sob. “This is your life and you are the only one who can make this decision. But I could not live with myself if I stood idly by and did not tell you about the risks – the firsthand, goddamned truth.”

 

The point man bent over and helped pull the teen into a standing position again, suddenly soft curves and caring hands. Without another word the teen looked up at him before dashing out of the park, the sound of his breathless sobs reaching Eames’s ears distantly. The two dream workers stood where they were for a moment, silence between them even though the rest of nature had regained its volume. Eames saw Arthur turn to look at him and knew he should say something to the other man. But before he could think of anything to say—before he could even remember how to speak Arthur’s eyes rolled into the back of his head and the point man collapsed in the sand.

 

_November 8th_

 

“…Eames?” That soft, tentative voice drew the forger out of his light sleep. He had been sitting on the armchair beside the hospital bed for the unconscious point man, waiting and praying for him to wake up. But it seemed that eventually he had drifted off while watching Arthur’s relaxed face.

 

“Arthur,” he breathed happily, pushing himself out of the chair so he could stand beside the bed. But as the other man blinked up at him hazily, only slowly regaining his grips on reality, Eames realized he was not close enough to suit him and climbed up on the bed.

 

It was narrow and they barely fit so Eames just moulded himself against Arthur’s side, curling a leg around Arthur’s. He wrapped one arm around Arthur’s shoulders and nestled his face into the crook of Arthur’s neck and collarbone, sighing blissfully. “I don’t think the nurse will approve,” Arthur spoke teasingly.

 

“She didn’t like it the other times I did it either but you can see how much of a lesson I learned,” Eames smirked, his lips curving upward against Arthur’s smooth skin.

 

Arthur chuckled slightly and Eames grinned when he felt Arthur shiver at the feel of the forger’s lips on his skin. “How long have we been here?” he asked eventually.

 

Eames had to force himself not to purr when he felt Arthur stretch against him, loosening knots from days of being unconscious. “About three days now. You’ve been asleep the whole time so they’ve had you hooked up an IV. They told me you’d wake up eventually—that it wasn’t serious…but I’m so happy to see your eyes again, love.”

 

He leaned forward and kissed each eyelid delicately. When he pulled away and watched those eyes flutter open again he grew quiet, unable to voice what he was feeling. Arthur lifted a hand and cupped the side of Eames’s face, who leaned into the touch. “You know my past, what I’ve done, everything. And somehow…you still look at me like that.”

 

Eames’s smile softened, “It’s the easiest thing I’ve ever done, darling.”

 

Arthur looked up at him, ready to say something when they heard the door open, “Mr. Eames!” A shrill voice punctured their moment, causing it to shatter around them, “What have I _told_ you about lying on the bed?”

 

The point man raised an eyebrow at the forger, who gave a sheepish smirk, “I told you I got in trouble,” he laughed before slipping off the bed. He gave the bustling nurse an apologetic smile, all puppy-dog eyes and pouting lips before she shooed him away to his chair again.

 

He stayed out of the way and watched silently as the nurse checked all of Arthur’s vitals before asking some questions about how he was feeling. Once that was all finished she stood at the foot of the bed, scrawling quickly on a clipboard while answering Arthur’s questions. “Our guess is that you collapsed from physical and mental exhaustion, your body shutting down for a short time while you recovered.”

 

“But what could cause that to happen? Three days seems a little excessive,” Arthur was sitting up in bed now, looking better than he had in a long time.

 

“Well based on what Mr. Eames told us the stress of the repressed memories you were dealing with probably wore you out. It is not uncommon for an individual reliving a traumatic memory to feel some of the physical and emotional strain they experienced at that time.” She didn’t look up from her clipboard while she jotted something down. Arthur sent Eames a questioning look but Eames just shook his head; no he had not given details. “Three days did seem a little excessive, but your body seemed to know best as you appear to be quite healthy now. However, whatever you are dealing with I would like to suggest to you the idea of getting therapy to deal with this safely.”

 

“I think I’ve managed to work through them now,” Arthur spoke to the crisp white sheets he was wrapped in.

 

The nurse looked up and gave Arthur a glare, an ‘it’s my job to take care of you and you are making it very difficult for me’ kind of glare. To distract her, Eames spoke up, “So is there any lasting damage we should be concerned about? When will we be able to leave?”

 

The nurse glanced at Eames briefly but looked at Arthur when she answered, “We’d like to run a few more tests and observe you for the rest of today and tonight to make sure you are able to eat and drink on your own. If everything checks out you will be able to leave tomorrow.”

 

“Thank you,” Arthur spoke and Eames nodded his head as well, getting out of his chair to stand by the bed again.

 

“Mr. Eames, you better not be considering getting on that bed again,” the nurse’s eyes narrowed as she attached the clipboard to the foot of the bed again.

 

“Absolutely not,” Eames shook his head, looking insulted and horrified at her suggestion.

 

“Good. And you take care of him now,” she pointed her pen menacingly at Eames as she moved towards the door.

 

“Yes, ma’am!” Eames saluted her as she left the room, pulling an eye roll from Arthur. Less than ten seconds later Eames was back on the bed, curled up as close to Arthur as he could manage with the sheets blocking him. “So where do you want to go when we get out of here, pet?” he asked lightly, not wanting to bring up the heavy topics while Arthur was still recovering.

 

“I don’t suppose you still own that apartment in New York…do you?” Arthur asked quietly, trailing his fingers absentmindedly through Eames’s hair.

 

Eames hummed against Arthur’s chest at the feel of Arthur’s fingers, suddenly understanding why Arthur enjoyed it so much. It made him tingle at the soft touch but it also made him feel warm and relaxed. At the point man’s question, Eames lifted his head with a puzzling sort of grin, "Sort of."

 

_November 10th_

 

"I can't believe you kept this place for so long," Arthur muttered in surprise as he stepped through the doorframe.

 

"Neither can I. For years I kept it hoping that someday you'd remember the train stop or the city blocks or my apartment building and just...show up at my door," Eames laughed lightly at how stupid he sounded. "I don't even live here often because it's so small, but it's handy when I'm on the east coast for a while."

 

Arthur looked around the room slowly, seeing it for the first time in daylight. "A few things have changed, and it looks redone."

 

"That's because it has been," Eames nodded as he set his bag against a wall, taking Arthur's as well. "It's a funny story actually. The building got bought up and the new owners wanted to redo it since this neighbourhood was really picking up. Most people took the payout and found a new place but I was too damned stubborn. Eventually we came to an arrangement though," Eames sent Arthur a smug smirk. "I would move out with all my stuff while they redid the building and they would honour my contract and maintain the cheap rent I had signed up with."

 

"Impressive," Arthur smirked lightly as well, continuing to look around the small apartment.

 

"I thought so. They redid the carpets and walls, as well as some wiring and plumbing to bring everything up to date and I still got it for an amount a runaway teenager can afford if they have a job," Arthur looked over at Eames then, remembering all those years ago when he told him about his abusive father and how he had run away from home. "Anyway, when I moved back in I realized all my stuff was embarrassingly ratty so I bought some new furniture, even if I kept the layout more or less the same."

 

Arthur looked around, seeing that some of the main furniture was new but still in the same place as he remembered; the bed, the couch, a small table pushed up against windows that looked out onto a bustling cityscape. But he was inwardly pleased to see that some of the small, haphazard trinkets the young Eames had scattered around his apartment all those years ago had survived the move. A few old books, spines worn with much use and love, homemade blanket resting at the foot of the bed, a few framed pictures dotting the wall, mainly of a young boy and a warm looking woman. "It's nice to see it in the light," he confessed to the other man.

 

Eames beamed happily, looking around the tiny apartment with affection. "We probably won't want to stay here for long just because it's so small, but I'm really glad you saw it again. It makes me feel slightly less ridiculous for keeping the apartment for ten years," he laughed, ducking his head a little in embarrassment.

 

“I’m glad you kept it. I needed to face New York again...and this was my haven one night long ago,” Arthur brushed his fingers over the homemade blanket as he sat on the edge of the bed.

 

Eames sat beside him on the bed, feeling the mattress dip under their combined weight, “What do you want to do here, pet?”

 

“I want to make new memories,” Arthur looked over at him, fingers still twined in the colourful yarn of the blanket. “I’ve realized that I can never forget my past, nor should I because they made me who I am today. Instead of trying to forget...” Arthur reached over and brushed his fingers along Eames’s slack palm, smiling lightly when Eames suddenly closed his fingers, trapping Arthur’s hand playfully, “I need to find a balance; something to counteract the bad memories. I just need to replace the old memories with new ones.”

 

_November 13th_

 

They had barely been able to keep their hands off one another, constantly sharing soft touches and kisses that spoke of comfort and desire. But however frequent they were, they were always hesitant and careful – testing and exploring what Arthur was willing and capable of. Despite Eames’s long drawn out desire for the point man he promised himself to follow Arthur’s lead and not force the point man into anything.

 

That was why, when Arthur held his face close to his own and began kissing him insistently, he followed Arthur’s lead. They had been sitting on the couch only half paying attention to the movie playing while Arthur rested against Eames’s side and Eames skimmed his fingers along the point man’s arm. Out of nowhere Eames suddenly felt Arthur pull away to sit up fully and cradle Eames’s face in his hands.

 

When those lips slanted against his own Eames let his eyes drop closed with a groan because he knew immediately that this was not one of their normal, chaste kisses they had shared. This one was cautious, yes, but hungry and determined. He slipped his fingers into Arthur’s hair and pulled the other man’s mouth closer to his own. Eames quickly swiped his tongue along Arthur’s bottom lip, loving the sound of that surprised gasp as Arthur’s mouth opened and allowed Eames’s tongue entrance.

 

Arthur dropped his hands to wrap around Eames’s sturdy shoulders, holding him close as he began to lean back onto the couch. Following Arthur’s lead, Eames followed. Kiss unbroken during the entire shift, Eames slowly helped Arthur lie down on the couch, back resting comfortably before he began lowering his body carefully. The next instant he had the wind knocked out of him as his back met the floor.

 

He blinked up at the ceiling in mild confusion as he fought to regain his breath, trying to figure out what had just happened. Eames saw Arthur look at him over the edge of the couch, whole body drained of colour except for his cheeks which were flushed with embarrassment and arousal. “Are you alright?”

 

Eames realized quickly then that having his body covering Arthur’s must have caused a flashback for the man, making him feel trapped. Leftover fear and paranoia had pushed Arthur to exercise often and had honed his reflexes alarmingly. He couldn’t help but think that if that bastard tried anything to Arthur today he would get torn to shreds before Eames even got a chance at him. Finally, having caught his breath he blinked up at Arthur, “Besides the fact that you just kicked my ass, yes I’m fine.”

 

“I’m--”

 

“Don’t you dare apologize,” Eames cut him off with a warning glare. Arthur closed his mouth quickly with a similar glare but said nothing more as Eames picked himself off the floor and sat back down on the couch. As Eames slowly wrapped an arm around Arthur’s shoulder again, pulling him close, the forger was happy to note that the tension was already melting away from Arthur’s body. It was progress, at least.

 

_November 15th_

 

“I don’t understand,” Arthur spoke groggily to the ceiling.

 

“Don’t understand what, darling?” Eames yawned into the pillow, both of them having just slipped under the covers to sleep.

 

“You know everything I’ve done and had done to me in my past, and you have to deal with the repercussions of it every single day. I don’t understand how you can still find me attractive and worth all this effort,” Arthur let out a dejected sigh, “I don’t understand how you can still love me.”

 

“I thought we went over this,” Eames forced himself back into being fully awake, realizing that this had probably been on Arthur’s mind since that day in the park – since before that.

 

“I promised I’d believe that you loved me…” Arthur looked at him, eyes catching the dim light from the streetlights far below, “I never promised I’d be able to understand _why_.”

 

“First of all,” Eames began as he met Arthur’s gaze seriously in the darkness, “you are a _very_ attractive man and I am more than willing to go find a mirror if you plan to object to that.” That drew a shy smile from Arthur before the forger continued, “Secondly, and more important, I find you attractive for everything that you are, Arthur. You are intelligent, dedicated, confident, thoughtful and independent. Despite _everything_, pet, and that _strength_ that you have is…well it is awe inspiring.”

 

“Shut up,” Arthur muttered half-heartedly, never one to take compliments well.

 

“Too late, pet, you’ve gotten me started now,” Eames smirked. “Now, as for this so called ‘effort’ you think I’m struggling through – not the case at all. I don’t consider what we’re doing now any effort at all, nor the last couple of years. I have wanted to be with you since that cold December night, and now I have you,” the forger leant forward and dropped a quick kiss on Arthur’s lips before pulling back, “This isn’t effort, darling. This is me finally getting the chance to live with the man I love.”

 

It was hard to see Arthur in the darkness so Eames was a little surprised to hear the quiet sniffle come from the other man. He moved closer again so that he could see the few stray tears and brush them away tenderly, watching Arthur smile in the dim light. Arthur drew his fingers along Eames’s face slowly, brushing his cheekbone and tracing his jaw looking slightly dazed. “I love you,” he whispered, sounding desperate for Eames to believe him in that moment.

 

“I know, Arthur,” they both lay back on the mattress, Eames tucking his head against Arthur’s neck and breathing out slowly, “And you know I love you too.”

 

_November 16th_

 

Eames loved the feeling of Arthur’s fingers running along his back as the point man slowly peeled his shirt off, a pleasant shiver passing through his body. Once Arthur was done and had thrown his shirt to the floor Eames’s fingers sought the hem of Arthur’s shirt, making sure his fingers slipped playfully over Arthur’s stomach and chest as Eames disposed of the other man’s shirt.

 

Arthur had been very keen on the idea of them working towards sex – not that Eames minded – and they had agreed to slowly progress towards it. Eames could tell that it was partially desire that drove Arthur, but primarily the other man was feeling frustrated that his past was holding him back. Arthur was never one to let anything hold him back.

 

Eames was more than happy to oblige in helping Arthur move away from his old memories and replace them with new ones. He was pleased by the expanse of skin he was being presented, even though they had decided to only get rid of their shirts today. He skimmed his fingers over smooth skin deftly, watching Arthur as the point man’s eyes slowly drifted shut.

 

He was not on top of Arthur, rather kneeling beside him so that the other man would not panic at the feel of another man’s weight covering him. Eventually he placed one hand on each side of Arthur, holding his weight up as he leaned down to pepper kisses along that wonderfully exposed skin. He caught one nipple carefully, teasing it before moving onto the other one, causing Arthur’s breath to stutter in a way that tested Eames’s control.

 

When he moved away and began trailing kisses down to Arthur’s navel he breathed against the skin, “You are so beautiful.”

 

That skin tensed noticeably and Arthur’s eyes flew open, looking down at him, “Don’t call me that.” Eames was about to protest, thinking that Arthur was just being too shy, so Arthur continued, “They always called me that.”

 

Eames understood then and felt his heart sink when he saw Arthur look away, abashed. Feeling daring, Eames dipped his head down again to nip playfully at that taut skin, “Can I call you gorgeous? How about stunning?” he punctuated each compliment with a kiss and a mischievous nip. Eames saw Arthur look back at him in surprise, chuckling lightly even as his face flushed and eyes grew dark when Eames dipped his skilled tongue into his navel. Seeing that smile, Eames continued, “Dazzling, perhaps? Foxy _for sure_.”

 

He grinned against Arthur’s stomach as he kissed it, hearing Arthur laugh outright further up the bed. Eames allowed himself to be pulled up the mattress by Arthur’s questing hands and met the point man’s kiss greedily. He could still feel the smile curving the other man’s lips as their lips slanted together and it made his heart jump.

 

They didn’t progress any further that day but that didn’t bother either man. Eames had been able to salvage the moment with his determination and light-hearted joking; and he had managed to help Arthur break the hold some memories held over him to enjoy the present moment.

 

_November 20th_

 

Eames felt his back fall against the mattress a moment before Arthur crawled on top of him, legs straddling his waist, arms holding his weight on the forger’s shoulders, and lips stealing his breath away. It was some time later when Arthur pulled his lips away and sat back in the exact _right_ place. “I think I figured it out,” he spoke hesitantly.

 

“Well bloody well tell me then, pet,” Eames growled, watching the point man bite his lip nervously, distracted by the movement.

 

“I think I just need to top and you need to stay passive…if that’s alright,” Eames had a very difficult time concentrating as Arthur’s fingers played nervously with the hem of his shirt.

 

“Al-alright? Darling think about what you just asked me for a moment,” he watched Arthur’s eyes drop in thought before they looked up a moment later, suddenly looking mischievous.

 

That was when the clothes began to disappear. Both men had had their fingers tracing the hemline of one other’s shirts so those were quickly removed before Arthur leaned forward. Eames groaned at feeling Arthur’s weight shift over his cock and the man’s warm skin press against his own. He knew he was supposed to be remaining passive but he could not stop himself from catching Arthur’s hair and pulling him down into a deep kiss.

 

Eames had to pull away to let out a startled breath when Arthur began rolling himself against Eames, hesitant at first but slowly growing more confident. Arthur smiled lightly down at him as he got a rhythm going, exposing his neck to Eames’s searching lips when the forger pulled him down carefully. He heard Arthur panting against him as Eames kissed and sucked along his neck, barely containing his own desire as Arthur continued his torturous movements.

 

Soon Arthur pulled away and worked on undoing Eames’s pants, pulling them halfway down his legs. Eames dropped his hands onto Arthur’s hips and slid the point man’s pants down as well. Then Arthur got off Eames to fully remove his own pants before slipping the forger’s off the rest of the way and returning to his previous position, their straining lengths pressed together.

 

This was the farthest they had ever gone and Eames watched Arthur for any signs of discomfort with all the willpower he possessed as the point man began kissing down his chest and nipping his stomach. That exploring mouth stopped there, not dropping any further, and pulled away. Eames understood and didn’t mind as he patiently watched Arthur push aside the memories.

 

When he had regained his calm, Arthur skimmed his fingers along the skin exposed to him, brushing against Eames’s cock teasingly. “Someday I will do everything to you. And I want you to do _everything_ to me.”

 

Eames felt his hips thrust up against Arthur by their own accord as he felt a flash of arousal pass through him at Arthur’s words. “Shit, love, you can’t say things like that to me when I’m trying to remain passive.”

 

He noticed Arthur smirk down at him, fingers now brushing against his length more insistently, “Maybe I should tie you up.”

 

Eames just groaned and allowed his head to fall back against the pillow, breath quickening and face flushing at the mere thought. But instead Arthur just lowered his thin frame on top of Eames again and nipped his lower lip. Without opening his eyes Eames met the kiss, loving the feel of Arthur’s warmth and weight on him, desperate need pressed up against his own.

 

A long time later Eames pulled away, planting butterfly kisses along Arthur’s jaw, “Can I prepare you, love?”

 

“Yes,” Arthur moaned, allowing Eames to slip away from him to go find the lube.

 

When Eames returned he groaned at the sight, Arthur sprawled out naked on his bed, cock swollen and resting against his stomach. Eames knelt down on the bed slowly, brushing his fingers soothingly along Arthur’s thigh when the man hesitantly spread his legs to allow the forger easier access. He kissed Arthur’s hip as he coated his fingers, “We can stop here you know,” he offered, noticing the tensed muscles under Arthur’s skin.

 

Arthur shook his head and looked up at him, mouth hanging open slightly as he breathed deeply, “I’m ready.”

 

Eames nodded and placed one finger against Arthur’s entrance, pushing in slowly. He heard a strangled groan of pain and stopped his movements until Arthur’s breathing returned to normal. He waited until Arthur gave him a nod to continue, his eyes still clenched closed as Eames pushed in further. It was slow going at first, Eames watching Arthur pant and grip the bed covers as he began thrusting one finger in and out carefully.

 

Once Arthur seemed to adjust he began pushing his hips down, wanting more. Following the point man’s lead, Eames slipped a second finger in and began stretching Arthur as much as he dared, still watching his face for signs. As he moved his fingers in and out, Arthur pushing down against his hand and making a quiet keening sound, Eames realized the gravity of the situation.

 

This was the first time Arthur had done anything like this since he had been raped ten years ago. Eames was the first person Arthur had trusted to touch him so intimately after so long. As Arthur stilled his hand, slowly switching their positions on the bed with a small smile Eames felt honoured. He felt Arthur come to rest on his thighs, reaching over for the lube, so before he got distracted Eames carefully pulled Arthur’s mouth down to give him a tender kiss, hoping he was properly conveying his love and warmth to this man.

 

Arthur pulled away later, a look of dazed happiness on his face. Eames smirked at the look he had placed on that formerly neutral face, planting one last hasty kiss on those parted lips before he handed Arthur the lube. That seemed to jolt Arthur back to the current moment as he covered his hand and began stroking Eames purposefully. Eames lay back on the bed, trying to remain patient and passive like Arthur had requested. But he still let out a pleasured moan at the feel of that warm hand sliding up and down his flesh.

 

He had not realized he had closed his eyes until he blinked them open in disappointment when Arthur removed his hand. But then he felt Arthur shifting forward, Eames’s cock brushing against Arthur’s ass as the point man knelt over top of him. Eames swallowed and held Arthur’s hips hesitantly, helping him keep his balance while Arthur placed his hands on the forger’s chest. Arthur’s eyes met his, dark with lust, before he gradually dropped himself down.

 

Eames felt the tip of his length slip inside Arthur before the man clenched around him and paused, breath quick with pain. Eames wanted to tell him to stop, that they didn’t have to do this, but before he found the resolve Arthur slipped down further and he lost his ability to think. Arthur’s body was extremely hot and tight as it slowly took Eames in and even though Eames wished it wasn’t hurting the other man, he had to admit that he was in heaven.

 

Arthur eventually stopped, fully seated in Eames’s lap with the forger’s length completely inside him. Eames looked up then, meeting Arthur’s gaze, and couldn’t stop the words that spilled from his lips, “You feel wonderful, darling. This is heaven.”

 

Arthur gave him a pleased smirk before lifting himself up and dropping himself down again carefully. The movement caused both men to moan into the air, voices winding around one another harmoniously as Arthur began a slow pace. Eames kept hold of the point man’s hips loosely, helping him lift his weight but otherwise leaving Arthur in charge of the pace and rhythm.

 

Once Arthur adjusted to his size the pace began to pick up, drawing choked groans from the forger as he felt Arthur’s body clench around his length repeated, watching it disappear inside Arthur’s body with hooded eyes. He grunted when he felt Arthur suddenly sit down fully in his lap and remain there, Eames as far into Arthur’s heat as possible.

 

He looked up at Arthur just in time to see the point man begin rotating his hips, grinding down further into Eames and pushing him into the mattress languidly. Eames hissed in breath through his teeth and thrust up into that velvety heat automatically. He heard Arthur’s surprised mewl and blinked his eyes open hurriedly, “Sorry,” he panted and worried that he had been too aggressive.

 

But Arthur was shaking his head, eyes hooded as he slid forward and rested on top of Eames. Arthur held onto his shoulders tightly, breath tickling Eames’s collarbone where his head rested. “Keep going,” he moaned, pushing himself back down onto Eames’s cock desperately. Not needing further encouragement, Eames held Arthur’s hips a little tighter, fingers splayed across the point man’s lower back. He began thrusting up with a steady but slow pace, pushing Arthur down to meet each thrust. But when Arthur whispered against his skin, “Harder, Eames, god—_faster_,” he lost it.

 

With a cut off moan he began thrusting up with abandon, pushing Arthur down to take his cock in fully each time. He knew he had hit the man’s prostate when Arthur gasped and arched against him, spine curving as he thrust his own length against Eames’s stomach. He did his best to continue hitting that spot as he felt Arthur writhing on top of him, the point man’s cock sliding between their pressed-together stomachs with each thrust.

 

He knew Arthur was getting close when he met Eames’s thrusts harshly on his own, breathless and moaning as he nipped and sucked along the forger’s collarbone. “I’m going to come,” Eames heard Arthur whine against his skin, and hearing those words fall from the poised and precise man caused Eames to lose his rhythm. “Eames, I’m—I’m going to…”

 

“Then come for me, love,” Eames groaned, their entire bodies rocking in twisted pleasure and harmony. He felt Arthur’s nails bite into his arms a split second before Arthur cried out his name and clenched around him. Eames felt Arthur paint their stomachs white as the muscles in his ass tighten around Eames, squeezing him as Eames gave two more desperate thrusts and fell over the edge himself. He moaned Arthur’s name quietly as he came, Arthur’s body milking him dry.

 

He felt dizzy as he slowly recovered on the mattress, lazily meeting Arthur’s kiss as the point man pulled himself stiffly up Eames’s body. Eames wrapped one arm around Arthur’s shoulders and the other around his lower back, holding him close as they shared leisurely kisses. “How are you doing?” he asked softly, lips barely leaving trembling lips to speak.

 

“A little sore,” Arthur admitted, “but I’m okay.” Arthur dropped one more kiss on Eames’s waiting lips before he tucked his head under Eames’s chin tiredly, both of them exhausted. They both lay there for a long time, breath returning to normal as they both relaxed, and then Arthur spoke. “There’s something else I want to do.”

 

“Anything, love,” Eames muttered while brushing his fingers through that loose ebony hair. He felt Arthur pull away then and slip off the bed, taking the forger’s hand and pulling him up beside him. Eames followed the other man, watching Arthur’s stiff movements in mild concern. Though he couldn’t have expected anything else with how long it had been. He was distracted from his thoughts when Arthur tugged him into the bathroom and hesitantly went to turn on the taps. “Is this a good idea, pet? We have plenty of time to take things slow.”

 

“This feels like the right moment,” Arthur held his hand under the steady stream of water, adjusting it until the bathroom mirror began to steam over. The tub quickly filled with warm water, Arthur turning off the taps before it overflowed.

 

Eames _very_ slowly walked closer to Arthur’s side, making sure he always stayed in the point man’s view. When he was standing beside Arthur he noticed the stiff and tightly strung muscles in his neck, shoulders, arms and legs. He watched the point man for a moment before looking down at the tub, “I’m not sure we’re both going to fit.” True, he had gotten an upgrade when they redid the plumbing so it was a rather large tub. But he wasn’t entirely convinced that it was large enough to hold two grown men.

 

“We’ll make it work,” Arthur was biting his lip, breathing a little fast. “You get in first.”

 

Eames nodded and stepped into the tub carefully, feeling the hot water burn his skin gloriously. He held onto the rim as he sat down, legs stretched out under the clear water and arms resting loosely on the edge of the tub. He didn’t stop the sigh of contentment at the feel of warm water enveloping him.

 

Arthur watched him for a moment, swaying on the balls of his feet as he fought his fears. But finally he leaned over and stepped into the tub, foot on the porcelain between Eames’s spread knees. He took Eames’s offered hand to keep his balance as he slowly sat down in Eames’s lap, their legs entwining. As Arthur fully sat down the water level rose and a small layer of water fell over the edge and onto the floor. Eames just chuckled and skimmed his fingers down Arthur’s tense arms, sliding his arms comfortingly around Arthur’s midriff when the point man leaned his back against Eames’s chest with a similar sigh of contentment.

 

Eames kissed Arthur’s exposed neck for a moment before leaning back against the edge of the tub, feeling both his and Arthur’s bodies relax in the warm water. The tub was, as he had predicted, crowded to say the least. Eames was not able to move very freely with Arthur resting on top of him and it was almost too warm with the water’s heat and the shared heat between them, but Eames could not think of any place he’d rather be in that moment.

 

He noticed that Arthur still seemed a little apprehensive in his arms so he ran his nose along the expanse of that pale neck. “Holding up alright, pet?”

 

Eames heard Arthur let out a frustrated sigh, tensing up more. “Not really.”

 

“It’s alright, Arthur,” Eames spoke up when he heard the man’s voice catch. “This isn’t a ‘have sex one time and everything will be fine’ sort of thing, no matter how good I am at sex.”

 

He smiled sadly against Arthur’s back when he heard the other man try to laugh even though it came out sounding like a sob. “I’m so tired, Eames. I’m ready for it to be over. How long will this last?”

 

“It’s just like ripples in the water, love,” Eames spoke against Arthur’s damp skin.

 

“What do you mean?” Arthur asked, dispirited.

 

“Hold still for a moment,” Eames spoke, keeping one arm wrapped around Arthur’s stomach while he pulled the other hand free and rested it on the porcelain edge of the tub. They both went motionless, the water in the tub calming to stillness. Then Eames slowly lifted his drying hand and poked one finger into the water, causing ripples to fan out in all directions and disturb the stillness. “Now watch.”

 

They both sat there as still as they could manage, watching the ripples spread, bounce off the edge of the tub and against one another. Finally, ever so slowly, they all faded away and the water drew still again. “It’s just like that,” he muttered quietly against Arthur’s ear, drawing his attention. “These ripples fan out from the original disturbance, distorting everything around it. They turn a once-still and calm life into something difficult to manage and navigate. But eventually, no matter how long these ripples last or how far they spread…they will eventually fade away.”

 

Arthur was silent for a long time, occasionally touching the water and watching it slowly still. The water was growing cold but Eames did not disturb the other man from his thoughts. Finally he spoke, though it was not exactly what Eames had been expecting. “How long did you work on that metaphor?”

 

“A while,” Eames admitted. He felt Arthur silently chuckling against him, “Shut up, you liked it.”

 

Arthur laughed more openly then and leaned back against Eames’s chest, “You’re right, I did.” They sat there in silence again for a minute, “But there is one thing you were wrong about.”

 

“Oh?”

 

Arthur nodded wisely, like he was about to divulge the meaning of life. “You see, my life will never be still and calm again.”

 

“And why is that?” Eames raised an eyebrow even though he knew Arthur wouldn’t see it.

 

“Because you’ll be in it,” Arthur half turned in the forger’s arms, just enough to graze his lips against the edge of Eames’s smiling mouth.

 

Eames gave a quick peck in return, smiling in amusement, “True.”

**Author's Note:**

> **You can check out [here](http://onewhositswiththeturtles.tumblr.com/) to follow my Tumblr for info about me and story updates.**


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